Immiscibility
by N. Silvutra Mayhem
Summary: Oil and water don't mix. Neither should magic and alchemy. But they do, as Edward Elric finds himself in London and then ends up at Hogwarts, where more plots begin. Unfortunately, he's the only one who knows that Mustang's life is in danger. No pairings.
1. Chapter 1: Open Sesame

**A/N:** Oh, I'm very excited for this story ^^ I love HPFMA stories, but it amazes me how similar they all are – here's my (sad) attempt at trying to think out of the circle =)

**This story is set in:  
**(if you don't want to read this now, feel free to come back later.)**  
**

**FMA:** The pre-series timeline is from the manga/brotherhood, i.e. Ed was already a State Alchemist when he got rid of those train 'jackers. The rest is all anime canon – Dante was in charge of the Homunculi, etc. **However**, at the end of the movie Ed returned to Germany, closed the Gate and then left back to Amestris again with the help of Al on the other side (who hasn't regained his memories as a result). Two years have passed since then, and Roy is not yet Fuhrer. He's still a General.

**HP:** Years 1-4 for Harry are normal. In the "fifth book", the Dementors attacked and he had the hearing. Dumbledore then took him to Slughorn to persuade him. Malfoy did the plan. Snape was DADA teacher, and ended up killing Dumbledore and then running away with Malfoy. Voldemort rises into the public again. _Sirius is still alive – Department of Mysteries never happened and there's no prophecy. _Beginning of "sixth book", Harry's taken to Grimmauld for his safety. This story happens.

Oh yeah, give a huuuuge thanks to **Sazerac** for inspiring me to start this story! =D

_immiscible (adj): Incapable of being mixed or blended together. Immiscible liquids that are shaken together eventually separate into layers. "Oil and water are immiscible."_

* * *

Edward didn't know where he was, he only knew that he was falling.

The sensation from a familiar set of giant, elaborate doors passed him, but he paid it no heed. Obviously he had died once more for it to happen, but he had to make sure...had to make sure he didn't forget what he discovered right before he was shot.

Mustang's life was in danger, and the only person who could have known was falling away.

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**P A R T ﾠ ****O N E**

**「 The Guard 」**

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**Immiscibility  
**by . NyghthawK .

**Chapter 1: Open Sesame**

Cars, beeping as they tried to get to their destination. Traffic lights: red, stop; green, go. The hustle and bustle of workers, city-goers and tourists, smothering the streets and leaving almost no room to walk.

Downtown London. The busiest area of England's capital and the largest metropolitan area in the United Kingdom.

Like any major city, it possessed a certain flow that those who lived there everyday were familiar with. Interruptions to the were common and scarce depending on the time of year, but when they did occur law enforcement or emergency cars would be in and out without further delay.

Unless, of course, the person in question was named Edward Elric, and chose to appear at one of the busiest intersections in London. His arrival in a huge flash of light was greeted with the customary curtsey given to those who had 'delay' written over all of their faces.

_"Oh my lord!"_

_Screeeeeeeeech._

_"Hey! What the heck is a kid doing there?"_

Unfortunately for Alan and Sarah Granger, who were on their way to work, Edward landed right in front of their car. Alan slammed the brakes, barely cutting off a swear. Luckily for Edward, it came to a stop right before his legs got run over. Sarah was quick to rush to the young man's side, knowing her husband would call 999 immediately.

"Hello? Yes, we've kind of got an emergency on our hands -"

She brushed aside the man's golden locks to check his pulse, but her eyes widened. "_Heavens_...a child...?"

"- yes, ambulance-a young man's collapsed on the side of the road. Pulse?" Alan held the phone away from his ear briefly to look at his wife, and she shook her head.

"He's got one, but it's undeniably weak." Sarah silently thanked the Lord for the two years of medical school she attended before converting to dentistry. "Unconscious."

Alan nodded, and passed the information to the operator. A few minutes later, an ambulance arrived and their lives returned to their everyday rhythm.

* * *

The Chelsea and Westminster Hospital was a place that was busy in every hour of every day, Charity Burbage thought. She hurried to her ward, a young man with golden hair wearing the oddest combination of clothing, wondering exactly _how_ he had gotten into his mess.

She changed the bandages on him, and realized there were only a few weeks left until she had to return to her teaching position at Hogwarts. Charity enjoyed living with and the company of muggles – sharing the joy was why she taught Muggle Studies – but sometimes she wondered whether trying to tame a bunch of bored schoolkids was worth leaving her job as a nurse.

The young man stirred when she accidentally shifted on the bed, and she smiled at the calm look on his face. He was the age of all her pupils, but the way he held himself seemed far disciplined and alert, even when asleep. Charity toyed with the idea of him being a part of the Wizarding World, but dismissed it as soon as she remembered the mechanical limbs and the – goodness – leather pants the child wore.

Speaking of which, she had never seen limbs like those in her entire life! If she wasn't a witch she would likely have thought them to be magical in nature, but since she was and knew that electronic devices and magic did not mix, she simply looked at them in curiosity and wondered where in the world he could have gotten them from. She liked to consider herself as in the front of the strange muggle trend of technology, but she had never seen anything like them in her entire life!

The young man's eyelids twitched, and she quickly backed away as he got up. And – oh! His eyes were the most _amazing_ shade of molten gold; it wouldn't surprise her if he were magical in some slim nature.

She tried to get herself back on track – she was a muggle in a muggle world now, so she had to act appropriately. "Are you alright now, dearest?"

The young man frowned, looking around him with what seemed to be caution in his eyes. Charity recognized that look in some of the most veteran war wizards she had ever come across, and wondered why someone so young would seem the same. When his gaze came to her she tried to stay as still and as inconspicuous as possible and tried to look at him in the eye. What she saw, though, was a presence so strong that he could have been using Legilimency.

He looked away, obviously having seen everything he needed to see and reached out for his coat, taking out a pair of gloves.

"Where am I?" He asked bluntly, inspecting the bandages on himself. "How did I get here?"

"The Chelsea and Winchester Hospital, in London," she replied. "You suddenly appeared on the side of the road with those horrific injuries – do you remember how you got them?"

He blinked at the name and frowned. "No."

Charity knew he was lying, but knew better than to question him further. "I'm Charity Burbage, the nurse assigned to this ward and you for your stay. Do you remember your name?"

"Edward Elric."

She nodded, fumbling with the pen as she wrote his name down on the patient sheet. Almost jumping when her phone went off and barely seeing the startled look on Edward's face from the corner of her eye, she quickly handed the clipboard to him with instructions to fill everything out before rushing out to answer it in the hallway.

_It's weird that Edward, a muggle, reacted to a mobile phone the same way many wizards did themselves_, she thought, right before she managed to leave the room. _Is he really a muggle, or could he be a wizard?_

_Of course, if he is a wizard – where has he been for the past few years of schooling, and why hasn't he regrown his limbs?_

* * *

Ed stared at the flat board blankly, not comprehending anything at all. Wherever he was, it was not anywhere he was aware of – honestly,_London_? What kind of place was that? He travelled with a passion, and nowhere on any map did he see a London anywhere – unless it was in Xing, he wouldn't have known.

...Though, the name wasn't remotely Xingese in anyway, so he was frankly in some place he had no clue about at all.

He huffed, roughly putting the flat board ('clipboard', the lady had called it when she told him to return it as soon as he was done) to the side and glared at a random point in the room.

"You know, Elric," a voice commented idly, "staring at the window's not going to help at all."

Ed spun around to see a woman smiling at him, and noticed that there were actually two beds in the room. She was obviously leaning out the side of her bed in order to lift the corner of the curtain between them in order to get a good look at his face.

"Emmeline Vance," she said, then gestured to the fabric she was holding. "Mind if I pull this out of the way?"

Ed shrugged, not feeling the need to say anything. Vance obviously knew his name from when he was talking to the nurse, but he silently cursed himself for not being more alert as to her presence.

Vance leant deeper into her backrest, bringing her hands behind her head. "Well you're quite the talker, aren't you?"

Ed growled and looked away.

"Huh, and here I thought I could finally have some casual conversation with someone."

Ed ignored her; he needed to find a way to get back to the other side of the Gate. Though he never thought he'd be trying to defend him, Mustang's life was in danger unless he was able to return.

"Come on, shrimp; learn how to –"

"_WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO TINY NO ONE COULD HEAR HIM EVEN IF HE STARTED A CONVERSATION?_"

Vance blinked a few times and then grinned. "So you can talk after all, huh? Why're you in here?"

A grunt was her reply.

"Hm? Sorry, I didn't hear that."

"Fighting," Ed replied shortly, hoping she'd shut up. He scratched his flesh arm idly and met a fabric resistance. That was good – his automail was still covered. Awkward, long and detailed questions were the least he needed at the time. Briefly, he glanced at her and noticed a series of bandaged areas that had to have originated from more than one source. "You?"

She raised an eyebrow, and he almost groaned for lengthening the conversation. Instead of rubbing it in his face, though, she just smirked. "Car crash."

Ed didn't believe her one bit, not with the ridiculous look she had on her face. Vance likely didn't believe him either, but he didn't really care.

He needed a way to get back – he could deal with Vance later.

* * *

Three days later, the Death Eaters made the Chelsea and Westminster Hospital a living hell.

* * *

**A/N: **Ah, I hope that was okay! ^^;; It's my first published fanfiction because all the other ones I wrote before sucked.

'Open Sesame' are the magic words Ali Baba used to open the cave of treasure. I'm literally on the other side of the world from England (Australia) too so I don't know anything about it, so excuse me for anything stupendously wrong...

Please tell me what you thought about that, and if you liked it or not! I'm still learning, and it'd be nice for all the help I can get :)


	2. Chapter 2: Scene, Set

**A/N: **Hi again ^^ It's great to see the response! (_this chapter's A/N was edited on 12/24/2010)_

* * *

**Immiscibility  
**_by . NyghthawK ._

**Chapter Two: Scene, Set.**

Ed had been lying on the bed, supposed to be asleep but actually reflecting on his situation.

It had been three days. Three days since he woke up – three days since he discovered the assassination plans for General Mustang, but had screwed up: opening the Gate and gotten shot before he could return. As far as he knew, no one else other than he was aware about the plans – the assassins were far too good at what they were doing.

Heck, even _he_ hadn't been able to find an identity, and he was the Fullmetal Alchemist!

...

_Was_.

He'd long quit the military but the name had stuck and people would point to him and stare whenever he used alchemy. His constant usage left him pathetic without it and so he'd tried on the first night, right after that chattery Burbage left him alone. He knew it wouldn't have worked, but he still found himself disappointed by the missing aura of an array between his fingertips.

No, alchemy couldn't be used on this side of the Gate.

The morning of the second day, Burbage had tried to get him to fill in the form again. If any time was a great time to show well and truly how stubborn he could be once he set his mind to doing so, that was it. Ed had flat-out refused, and sealed his mouth when she tried to get the information out of him to do it herself.

There _did_ happen to be that minor problem of not having an address at all, and knowing that the only 'Edward Elric' this side knew had died ninety-or-so years ago once he'd finally remembered _where_ London actually was.

...Now that he thought about it, he didn't stay _completely_ silent. Not when she asked if he had a guardian or someone she could contact because she thought he was _bloody sixteen_! Twenty; he was a twenty-year-old legal adult, he could do whatever the hell he wanted!

Reflexively, Ed gripped his bed and started repeating his status as _not being short_ like a mantra. He was not short. He was not short. Sure, he had grown a few inches in the few years to bring him to a natural 5'5"-and-a-bit, but it was still _slightly _(read: six inches) below average. Thank goodness for his antenna and his almost inch-thick boots, giving him enough of a bonus to barely reach 5'8"...he was _not_ short, damnit!

Hearing some glass shatter in the distance followed by what was clearly the sound of blasted walls, he reflexively twitched, waiting for someone to tell him to stop blowing things apart. He didn't do it; he could have _sworn_ he hadn't done it. Not this time – he was far, far away and hadn't clapped his hands together at all...not that alchemy worked anyway.

Ed suddenly had a very bad feeling, and he trusted his instincts. When he quickly threw his coat on and started to leave, an arm held him back.

"Elric," Vance said slowly, eyes abnormally alert. "Stay down. You don't know what you're dealing with."

"Oh so _you_ do, now?"

There were a few screams, and from their window they could see an entire section of building losing electric power at once. Growling at the woman, he wrenched his shoulder out of her grasp.

"There are _already injured_ people getting worse out there," Ed hissed, reaching the door, "and I have to stop them doing so."

"You will not, now _shut up _and _stay still_."

Flinching slightly at the sharp tone in her voice, he looked back to see a stick pointed at him. He wasn't necessarily worried about it, more about how close it was to his face and how it could take out an eye in an instant.

Then, the door blew open, completely off its hinges.

Behind it, an ominous shadow appeared – it appeared whoever was attacking them was really fond of clichés, seeing as there were still shouts from down the corridor and the lights were all out (and honestly, _blowing_ a door open?).

"Ah, Vance," a man's voice almost purred, and the shadow was revealed to be a figure swathed in a heavy black cloak, a silver mask resting gently over its face. "It's a surprise seeing you here."

Behind Ed, Vance seemed to tense, slowly moving the stick away from his nose and pointing it to the unnamed assailant. "What do you want, Rosier?"

'Rosier' chuckled darkly. "Wouldn't you like to know? But look at yourself, miss Shining Star of Hogwarts; injured with a myriad of unhealable cuts on your skin and having to resort to _muggle_ techniques – oh, what a great fall, former high and mighty queen." He idly twirled his stick in his hands, face never leaving Vance's side. "You realize it won't work, don't you?"

"What are you getting at?"

"My, my, no need to get to defensive." Rosier seemed to raise his arms in surrender, but Ed easily saw through the lazy gesture. "I'm simply stating some fact, you know. The Dark Lord _has_ been particularly..._interested_ in curses that cause incurable scars...so far, we've only managed to resist most of the spells involved in magical healing, but rest assured we'll be able to achieve permanent disfigurement."

Ed twitched. How could the man talk about something so calmly? He was sick-minded, so unbelievably sick. Not even the assassins sent to kill Mustang seemed to be gleeful about their job; they'd just wanted to get paid and have everything done with.

Unfortunately, the tiny action proved to be the wrong thing to do, as Rosier turned to him with a lazy smirk on his face. "Oh, well isn't this interesting? He looks so confused...honestly, dearest Emmeline? A muggle? Really, now; I never thought you were the type to drag someone into your—"

"Shut up," Vance hissed, eyes burning brightly. "Don't you _dare_ bring him into this! If you've got something to settle, do it with me first."

"As you wish," Rosier chuckled and waved his stick. A flurry of purple sparks came out the end and Ed only watched in horror as Vance's arms and legs locked together, sending her to the ground and her stick flying halfway across the room. Whatever had just happened, it wasn't alchemy – how could something so careless and unnatural have any semblance of Equivalent Exchange?

Ignoring him, Rosier walked around to the side in order to look down at Vance's face, and leant down to stroke her cheek. "You know, my dear; you never did answer my question."

Vance's eyes narrowed, whatever witchcraft used locking her into a position she couldn't do anything in. "What question?"

"In our fourth year, I asked you out?" He stood up, disdainfully wiping his hand on his cloak in a strange twist of emotion. "Of course; you were too busy with your studies to notice a measly _Slytherin_ asking you for your attention. Hmph. Anyway, I've asked the rest of my _colleagues _to go ahead, so we've got plenty of time together right now all alone – the two of us. Let's hear you scream, I'm sure the _muggle_ would love to see you suffer. _Crucio!_"

Ed didn't stop to think – he just clapped his hands and literally dived to the ground, array forming and mentally speeding through the steps; analysis of the components, deconstructing those components and then forming something new entirely. Of course, he didn't think it would work, nor did he expect it to, but when he felt a weak tickle of alchemic energy rushing through his palms and was able to raise the wall in time, his eyes just widened as he watched the red light bounce off and char the very stick that cast it.

He couldn't delay even with his surprise, though. A moment's pause was all a person needed to deal the finishing blow, and Ed was quick to swing his leg around and land a kick in Rosier's stomach, sending him across the room.

There was something to be said about automail, after all.

Quickly skipping across Vance and some of the debris scattered on the floor, he pulled off the mask and checked if the man really was unconscious. Finding him dead to the world and giving him another punch for good measure, he slowly helped Vance back up to her feet, even though her legs were snapped together and her arms were bound to the sides of her body.

"What...was that?" Vance gritted slowly, whatever binding her also restricting her ability to speak.

Ed shook his head. "I'll explain later; I don't even know how I did it. He seemed to know you and I won't ask why –" _because sometimes, some secrets just should be respected and untold _"—but you seem to know what's going on. What should we do now?"

A small, grateful smile tagged at the corner of her mouth and her brows were set into a deep line. "He definitely didn't come here alone. This is probably a fear strike, one to show how much control his...Lord has." Edward grimaced; the Lord had a pretty big ego. "I can call for reinforcements – can you stay here? I don't think you should be out there, since you're not familiar with their...battle strategy."

"Reinforcements?"

"Yeah," she nodded, then bit her lip as if contemplating how much to tell him and how exactly to tell him whatever she was about to say. "If you'll give me my wand – that's the stick-thing there, that's all I'll need."

Slowly leaning her against the wall and making sure she had its support, he picked up the device and inspected it for any arrays. He found none – it _definitely_ couldn't have been alchemy then, but the question remained – _what_ was it they performed?

Ed sighed. As much as he'd learnt to respect people's privacy, it was something he couldn't avoid.

"What did he do, Vance?" Running a hand through his hair, he kept the stick—_wand—_out of her reach, making sure she answered the question. "I'm not someone who'd pry – well, not anymore at least; I've learnt my lesson – but at least give me some idea of what I'm dealing with here."

He could feel her eyes on him, and he knew she was analysing to see what he was worth. Honestly, she acted like some of the soldiers in Central who had seen too much war and betrayal; overly cautious and more analytical than they should have been. Ed simply dealt with it the way he always did – he just looked her in the eye and told her through his own that he was more than worthy of knowing. Despite how young he looked, he'd seen and experienced too much to stay that way.

Finally she spoke. And when she did, it was only one word.

"Magic."

Ed couldn't have said what he was expecting, because he honestly didn't know. However, he felt himself suddenly undergoing a coughing fit – apparently he'd choked and hadn't realized it until it was too late.

"Magic," he wheezed finally, once he'd somewhat recovered. "So you're telling me this magic is true?"

"Yes."

Oh man. _Oh_ man. He _really_ didn't need to deal with some crackpot who thought magic was real the same way those idiots in Liore believed in the Sun God Leto.

Well, he was in a battle, so if he wanted to stay alive he could just go and roll with it. He could deal with everything else later.

"So these, uh, 'wands', are what you use, right?"

She nodded. "When a witch or a wizard casts a spell, a small portion of their energy is transferred through the wand and then converted. Even so, only about eighty percent of the energy is used – the rest is diffused and just left as residual in the air, when it's then absorbed by magical flora and fauna."

For something so ridiculously stupid they'd certainly thought about it quite a bit, Ed grudgingly admitted to himself. Even if it were false, though, there was no denying that there was at least _some_ form of energy transfer, and it was probably the residual...energy he used to perform his alchemy with.

"You seem to know quite a bit," he sighed, sitting back on the bed and placing his cool automail hand over his temple to clear his thoughts. "Are there any limitations?"

Vance seemed to flush. "I was in the smartest House at school and I always studied a lot – this kind of thing was interesting to me." Ed decided to ignore that – the crackpots were getting so good they were practically _brainwashing_ the poor people. And she mentioned school – how old were they before they were subjected to the brainwashing anyway? Those cruel, cruel people.

He jerked himself back to reality to hear the rest of Vance's words. "—the wands would be their weak point, because only very few powerful wizards can perform magic without one." She seemed to smirk, an odd move considering her situation. "You've finished interrogating me now, haven't you? Gimme my wand back and I'll call for those reinforcements, but really – I know you're going to run off anyway after I do."

Ed handed her wand back to her, unaware he was still fiddling with it in his hands and subconsciously channelling the energy to analyse its components. Some kind of wood – elm, perhaps? Plenty of carbon, and a touch of iron too, handy for anything he could have ever wanted...

"Don't go out there," Vance said unexpectedly, breaking his musings. "Really, don't. Magic isn't something you should take lightly, you know. If you go down there, the odds are that you're going to be the one to come out worse off."

And clutching the stick tightly, she pushed herself sideways off the wall, disappearing with a loud _crack_.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay in updates! Like just about everyone else on this site I'm doing NaNoWriMo right now. (Also sorry to everyone I've yet to reply to – I'll get around to doing it asap!)

This chapter title is referencing 'setting the scene', if you're wondering. And the brainwashing idea is indirectly created by Sazerac [stop being so modest!], when we were chatting and she was noting how easily Ed took the whole 'magic' concept in some fics compared to how badly he took Cornello's 'miracles'. I just expanded on it ;)

Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3: Game, Start

**A/N: **Sorry about the delay in replying and everything! I figured I'd update now since I have a little bit of internet access left for the day – the time I have is limited, you see. (Asian parents, grades and tutoring, if you like. Not that I'm complaining, mind you.)

Thanks for all the reviews and support! ^^

(About chapter lengths – I personally prefer writing/updating short chapters like these because I can get them done sooner, edited, and up without you having to wait _forever_. My schedule and I can't last long chapters, sorry!)

* * *

**Immiscibility  
**_by . NyghthawK ._

**Chapter Three: Game, Start.**

_Of course_ Vance had told him to stay put. As if the whole new 'magic' thing was something that he should've been scared of, something dangerous and so bad that he couldn't take care of himself.

Keh, he was the _Fullmetal Alchemist!_ Hero of the People; he didn't care about deluded maniacs who somehow managed to convince entire groups of people to believe the crackpot nonsense that apparently had entire _schools_ teaching.

It was just another case of Liore – just on a much larger scale, and hopefully without him being part of the homunculus' plans.

He'd almost jumped like a little kid when he tried alchemy again and it _worked_, this time to adjust the shape and size of the robes he slipped on top of his normal clothing. He did notice the tingle in his arms this time that probably meant that he was using that residual energy source Vance'd talked about. It didn't matter right then, though – he had to go and show the terrorists why it was stupid to mess with the temper of the _Fullmetal Alchemist_.

The easiest way to do so, he figured, was just by pretending to be one of them for long enough before knocking them all out at once. So he'd, uh, 'borrowed' the weirdo Rosier's cloak and mask and headed down the corridors for the source of all the commotion, oozing the obnoxious confidence the Fullmetal Alchemist was known to possess.

And so he did.

It had been surprisingly simple, actually. He'd thought he'd have had to knock out a few guards who suspected him or something at least like that, but the other robed guys seemed to think he was just another member who was extremely low on the totem pole and someone they could give orders to and generally not care about.

Ed was slightly – only _slightly_ disappointed. It'd been a while since he was finally able to create some damage with a good reason; he couldn't do so back at Central since if repairs went over a certain amount of money or that there were enough witness reports around the money would have been deducted from his research fund instead of from the Treasury. And since he'd quit, that research fund had also disappeared.

He hadn't expected to accidentally walk _into_ another robed figure that was taller than all the others he'd passed. He stood up straighter and tried to look as demure as he could as it usually lowered peoples' guards (right before he ran his poor, sorry self away for it), but the other one seemed to notice him immediately and glowered.

It wasn't too good to start blowing things up so soon, especially if they were just on a low rung on the power ladder. Everyone knew that showing one's cards too soon always led to bad consequences.

Rather than snap at him, the figure looked more bored than anything else and turned its eyes away from him once he saw the mask. "I don't suppose you're here as my replacement, right? I swear, if that Malfoy deprives me of the fun again and sets me up for guard duty, I'll make sure he can't reproduce again in his life."

Ed shook his head, making sure it looked as if he knew exactly what was going on. Alright, so the guy was nothing but a lowly guard – simple, he'd just pull rank again. He also unwillingly answered one of his questions on who was in charge. They were really too kind.

"Serves you right," he tried to scoff, drawing out every single crude root in his body as he did so. They were terrorists, so he had to act like he was one also.

Ed tried to walk past him even though he had no clue where he was going, but he was stopped when he found a stick in his face – one of those _wands_, he corrected himself, and then felt a feeling of dread because he wouldn't have been able to duck or block at such close range.

"You can just replace me anyway," the figure suggested in a not-very suggestive tone. "We all look the same anyway, and I've got some muggle filth to scare."

Trying not to react, Ed simply stood still as a part of him wondered if he should have feigned for his own..._wand_.

"Unfortunately," he apologized instead in the same not-very apologetic tone, "Malfoy requested for me to see him." Oh yes, so he could introduce whoever the guy was to his automail fist. "Where is he now?"

The figure's arm tensed for a moment and Ed almost imagined himself at the receiving end of a glare, but eventually the stick-wand thing was lowered and the figure started to grumble. "He should be in the foyer by now, probably. Rotten bastard and his hellspawn probably bribed their way into the Lord's favour too..."

Ed strode right past the figure to the direction indicated, ignoring the man's mutterings. Inwardly, he groaned; the brainwashing must've been far worse than he anticipated, seeing as just about _everyone_ and their dog believed in the stupid 'magic' concept. It would be difficult for him to undo it now that it was so strong, but he was determined to rip it into shreds so rip it to shreds he would do.

After a few wrong turns it was just his luck that he ended up face to face with a dead-end. Once he'd looked around, though, he spotted a map of the hospital on the wall a few steps away from him and he hurried across to locate where the foyer was – Burbage hadn't exactly been keen on letting him leave his room to go anywhere, really.

He was at the wrong side of the building and a floor too high from the foyer, the map said. It wouldn't take long to loop around to the front, however finding a short route downstairs proved to be more difficult. Cursing the stupid developers for creating such a stupid plan, he figured he may as well go around and check things out before figuring out what to do rather than having to plan ahead – in other words, brazen, daredevil, and Edward Elric-style.

Running through the corridors and past the rooms he'd memorized as a part of his route, his luck seemed to be better as he only met three of the cloaked people on the way. Or more specifically, one was in his path and the other two were terrorising some defenceless children in the room beside them and laughing maniacally at their suffering. He'd just clocked them all in the solar plexus without any difficulty and snapped their stick/wands for extra security.

Finally approaching his destination, he leant over the rail of the bridge-like structure to see what was going on. A group of unfamiliar robed people had appeared, ones that didn't have hoods or masks, casting..._spells_ from their wands against the cloaked people on the terrorists' side – probably the reinforcements Vance had told him she'd send, but why they'd taken so long to arrive was beyond him. Glancing around, he could have sworn he saw her once or twice amongst them, but never for long periods of time.

Ed hummed a little as he gauged their strengths and the abilities the whole 'magic' thing possessed.

Well if anything, Vance had been right about their uselessness without the sticks. Sure, they were casting efficiently and fluidly like the way seasoned military officers could aim, shoot and reload at once, but once they'd lost their wands their ducking skills were obscene and they always had to run across and retrieve it.

He sighed; alchemy was _far_ more practical. The guys didn't even try to transmute any kind of weapon or anything, they just decided to have a rainbow spark-filled _colour fight_.

Watching for a little bit longer, he noticed how the terrorist side seemed to fight disjointedly with individual strength compared to the strength in teamwork from the other. Well he hadn't guessed wrong about their self-interest and backstabbing personalities; they were ruthless morons.

"Never again, Malfoy!"

Ed blinked, before searching for the source of the voice. He found the owner with blazing, fiery-red hair sparring against the figure he'd judged to be roughly the strongest from the masked side, and he couldn't help but raise his eyebrows nearly gleefully. So the guy was this 'Malfoy', was he? He certainly did seem to be someone who would've been feared, being fairly agile and casting spells more fluidly than all the rest; traits that counted for individual strengths.

Unfortunately for him, he was about to see the Fullmetal Alchemist's strength for his own eyes. Ed grinned his trademarked shark-toothed smirk as he transmuted a section of the handrail just in case his alchemy decided to short out again. It didn't, but he found himself holding a staff rather than a spear due to the rail's components. Oh well, he couldn't have everything.

Giving the staff a small twirl to check its weight, he looked down again to judge the distance. As it was only one floor the height wasn't anything for him to be particularly concerned over. Nimbly, he dropped over the edge to the ground, wincing slightly at the slight error in his landing – he was getting flabby again, and he knew that too well.

Vaguely recognizing the startled shouts that sounded out from his 'sudden' appearance (he scoffed – stupid, unfit 'wizards') he dashed a three-step stride towards the Malfoy before sweeping his staff out in a less-than-graceful arc. The cloaked figure hit the wall with a satisfying _crack_.

He smirked, twirling his staff again with an unnecessary, badass flair and slammed the end of it into the ground. His work was complete.

"_Stupefy!_"

The next thing he knew, he was kissing the ground and seeing nothing but inky blackness.

* * *

**A/N:** The next one should be up soon :)

This chapter's title doesn't really have a special meaning, but the format's modelled after the one in the last chapter. Ed seems to go on a bit too much about being the Fullmetal Alchemist? I'll hopefully get around to explaining that later, but I'll summarise: despite quitting the military he can't stop thinking of himself like that; a small part of him misses the life of exploration he and Al had with their goal, because he's had so many years of that and travelling on his own's unfamiliar. I'm talking too much now ^^"

-Nyght


	4. Chapter 4: Twenty Questions I

**A/N: **Hi again ^^ And hey, I've managed to update within a week again!

Thanks to everyone that's reviewed or added this story to alerts—it's so nice to see people doing it without me having to ask for them, I feel so honoured you like it so much =D

Let's go!

* * *

**Immiscibility**  
_by . NyghthawK ._

**Chapter Four: Twenty Questions I**

Ed woke up to a heavy, thick and musty smell overlayed with the faintest hint of rich meat and his growling stomach. He grimaced when he realized there was a coarse feeling of fabric around his head and over his eyes, and that his hands and feet were bound to the hard and unforgiving wooden chair he sat on.

Then he groaned, echoing his stomach's protests once he felt the uncomfortable feeling of too much lactic acid in his muscles. It was likely he'd been tied up for hours at least, and he still didn't know where he was.

"So you're awake now, huh." A voice greeted him, their naturally harsh undertone amplified with a scratchy breath. Ed couldn't see where he was, but he heard the voice coming from his right and smelt a small disturbance in that area, a smell that reminded him of trees and thick forest.

He turned to that direction, huffing. "What'd I do this time?"

The man started to walk around to Ed's left, and Ed was able to hear an odd _clunk_ with each step. There must've been an artificial limb replacing a foot, then, but it sounded softer than the metal of automail and different from the plastic of his father's prosthetics.

Even though it had been drilled into his head over and over again to not speak anymore than what was necessary if he ever became subject to an interrogation, Edward Elric wasn't exactly the kind of person who sat around and stayed quiet for long periods of time. The questioner still hadn't given him an answer, so he thought he'd start some conversation to relieve his boredom and get his mind off the delicious smell hanging in the air.

"Hey, old man," he drawled with all the grace and poise the Fullmetal Alchemist possessed, "you might want to get your leg checked up some time – it's starting to sound off."

The pacing stopped, and Ed smiled. He'd gotten the man's attention, and now he just had to turn the interrogation tables around.

"Yeah, you. Left...no, right leg's wooden, isn't it? Could I maybe suggest a replacement or something, 'cause it's sounding like it's a little dented."

The man growled. "Shut up, brat. If it weren't for some special circumstances you wouldn't even be sitting here, instead just rotting in a cell in Azkaban."

"Special circumstances?" Ed asked, realizing the hidden meaning as soon as he said the words and simply broadened his smirk. "Oh, so you guys are the reinforcements Vance'd said she'd bring, huh. Don' seem like much."

Ed could almost imagine a glare in response, but a swishing of fabric and a quick step followed by a clunk alerted him to another presence in the room, one that obviously didn't want the first to attack.

"I wouldn't insult anyone in this room, young man," a new and unfamiliar voice began, one that sounded smoother and younger. "There are ten wands pointed at you as we speak, and we will not hesitate to stun you if you do not comply."

Ed's brows narrowed, and a slight frown fell upon his face. "Wands? Phah, here you go with the whole stupid 'magic' nonsense! _Magic_ is something that doesn't exist, only science, and those who think otherwise are brainwashed morons."

"Actually, magic is something that is quite real. Now to—"

"As real as parlour tricks, _yeah_. I'll admit, though – you guys do have something in your hands that seems to defy Equivalency, but I'll figure it out eventually and show you guys the truth."

A huff; it was too low for him to tell until the older man spoke.

"That's been tried before, it won't work this time."

A silence befell the room, and as Ed took the small lapse in conversation to survey his environment he seriously doubted the truth of the younger man's words. For ten more of those stick wand things to be pointed in his direction meant ten people in the room, but he would have definitely heard some sort of disruption from breathing or shifted clothing. Furthermore, the echoes he heard reflected off the walls meant that it was probably quite a small room.

The telltale sound of muffled footsteps approached his hyperalert mind state, and he didn't need to think to know it belonged to the younger man from the lack of a clunk.

"What is your name?" It wasn't a question, it was a demand, signalling the start of the interrogation. And since returning to Amestris with his brother, he was good with handling interrogations.

"Edward."

"Last name."

He needed something that couldn't be tracked to him, and easy enough to pull off. Thinking of a good friend, he answered. "Heiderich."

"Lie. What is your name?"

Ed would have gritted his teeth, but Vance had obviously pre-informed the men about him. Now he knew what to do and what to look for.

"Edward Elric," he grumbled, pretending to be caught in the act.

He heard a scoff from the older one – apparently his act hadn't worked, then. "Did you really think we wouldn't notice how well trained you are?"

Ed didn't react, smoothing his face into an uncaring, lazy mask. Reacting only made things worse.

But when the man spoke again, he wasn't talking to him. "I told you; this guy probably knows _everything_—"

"We can't use Veritaserum on him, our supplies are low and you _know _how difficult it is to brew. Anyway, he's just a kid—"

Ed couldn't help it – his long ingrained anti-height sensor was something hard to ignore, and he visibly twitched. "Not short," he growled, restraining himself from lashing out. However, he froze when the rest of the conversation caught back up to his brain. "Veritaserum?"

Whilst he didn't know what this _Veritaserum_ was or what it did exactly, one of his more recent escapades in Creta to the west had led him to a group of scientists discussing over a truth serum nicknamed 'Gift from Veritas', 'Veritas' being their native God for truth.

"Hey, now...this _Veritaserum_ wouldn't happen to be some kind of truth potion now, would it?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "'Cause that's not exactly fair—"

"We're asking the questions here," the gruffer man huffed, obviously impatient from all the circles he was forced to run in. "What's You-Know-Who plannin'?"

The Fullmetal Alchemist gave a shark-toothed grin; it turned out that he hadn't lost his obnoxiousness after all and could still drive people mad insane just by breathing.

"No, sorry; I don't know who. Care to enlighten me?"

Another growl, this time louder. "Stop playing stupid with _me_, you—"

"Now, now," the second voice berated gently, and sighed. Another shift of fabric, and the sound of irritated, uneven pacing. "Let's ask that again. Are you allied with the Dark Lord?"

Ed snorted. "What Dark Lord? That other guy mentioned him, I think, but really – what the heck are you guys talking about?"

A pause.

"Edward...you aren't a wizard, are you?"

Oh he hated that tone, how he _hated_ it. It was the type of tone that you just couldn't lie to, one that would become far more annoyingly disappointed than it should have been.

"No, I'm not." He answered surprisingly politely for someone like himself, gritting his teeth as he tried to ignore the guilty spasms down his spine. "I told you that this 'magic' business is nothing but stinkin' bullshit already, so can I just go the fuck home?"

...Swearing always helped him get his mind off things, but he only succeeded in thinking of a berating Al and how he couldn't get back home.

"Then what were you doing dressed in Death Eater robes and the mask?"

Ed's face fell – literally. Though since his arms were tied in an uncomfortable position, he had to make do with resting his chin against his chest. _That_ was what it was all about? Him and his disguise as the enemy?

Pathetic – and here he was thinking that he'd blown something up that he shouldn't have...again.

"That Malfoy dude, remember him?" Ed didn't wait for an answer, just barrelling on. "Well, he seemed to be the boss of the terrorist group, so I, uh, borrowed the cloak and mask from the weird Rosier dude who tried to assault Vance to disguise myself and asked for directions."

Another pause, before he felt the fabric around his head loosen and then fall to lie on his lap in a small bundle. Ed was careful to not open his eyes too quickly and blind himself, but the dim light of the stone room wasn't particularly bright in the first place and he could see just fine.

A few glances were all he needed to confirm his earlier suspicions and discover he was in some kind of cellar, and that there _were_ only two people in the room with him, both looking haggard and worn. The one closest to him, who he suspected to be the younger one had a pale-looking face that certainly matched the part, despite the premature lines crisscrossing his temple and his greying hair. The other seemed as grizzly and battle worn as his voice, a multitude of scars upon his forehead and an almost freaky electric blue eye.

"Congratulations," the younger one suddenly sighed, running a hand lazily through his hair as he flicked his wand to remove the bindings. Ed agitatedly shook out the lactic acid in his arms and legs now that they were given freedom. "You've passed the test."

The door opened behind him to reveal a large group of people sitting around a long table expectantly, and Ed opened his mouth to demand at least some of his dignity back but the young man interrupted again.

"I'm sure you have many questions for us, Edward – we'll answer everything we can. Come with me and take a seat."

Ed growled, but finding nothing else he could do simply followed the man out of the storage room and into the main one.

_Ahh, screw it._

* * *

**A/N**: So, anyone got any predictions? ^^

This chapter title doesn't really have a meaning, I'm running out of creative ideas. I haven't seen a fic out there where the Order interrogates Ed 'cause they're so trustworthy, so here's my take. You'll be seeing my take on Vance a bit more too (I say this because she's canon, but she's got no backstory or anything) and next chapter it's more of the Q and A game.

Thanks for reading!

—Nyght


	5. Chapter 5: Twenty Questions II

**A/N: **Hi, all! I can't believe I'm getting these chapters out in the first place—it's amazing. Thanks for all the reviews and support of my ideas;; I just _love_ trying things that no one's done before, so let's see how this turns out...

I think I should say now that English is my second language ^^"

And forth!

* * *

**Immiscibility  
**_by . NyghthawK ._

**Chapter Five: Twenty Questions II**

Of course, Edward Elric only managed about three steps outside the storage room before he succumbed to temptation and sighed.

"Where am I?"

The younger man smiled. "You are at the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Sorry for the rudeness earlier – I'm Remus Lupin."

Ed ignored him, simply looking around at the motley bunch sitting around the table. It wouldn't have surprised him if they were the result of someone throwing a bunch of names into a hat before picking out some randoms and dubbing them to be members. There were people like the older man, wizened and militaristic, and then there were members who seemed like they joined only because it was cool. Even three _kids_ were present, chatting to one another at the end. Vance also sat amongst the crowd, alongside the red-haired man who was last to fight the Malfoy creep from earlier.

Literally, they were the polar opposite of the military.

Ed's mouth twitched, and then he snickered before finding himself in peals of laughter.

One of the kids, a redhead with freckles, stared at him stupidly. "What?"

"You guys are _pathetic_."

There was a rumble of discomfort and distrust amongst everyone who sat there, and even the two standing with him looked insulted.

"What do you mean?" Someone asked, and Ed was too busy chortling to notice who.

"Well," he replied, ticking things off his fingers as if it were a checklist. It was time to pull in the Fullmetal Alchemist's most obnoxious, most annoying and the greatest 'higher than thou' big guns. "First, you have a crummy name—"

"Hey!"

"—Second, you guys need some organisation—"

"What?"

"—Third, you've really got to polish up your interrogation techniques." Ed pulled a face. "Who the hell interrogates someone to determine if they're trustworthy and then introduce them to the main body when they are? You guys are either retarded or severely understaffed, and I think it's the latter."

He got a few stares.

"Also, you need to improve your battle skills and your fashion sense." He couldn't resist.

When Lupin turned to him and opened his mouth to say something, he interrupted before the man could.

"Oh yeah, and _why the fuck does everyone believe in magic?_"

Shouts of disbelief at his statement, shock at his gall and his swearing and furious muttering broke out. Each person on the table somehow deemed it necessary to discuss with the person beside them about the foreigner who only wanted to give insults. Unbeknownst to them, that was actually true since Ed really, _really_ needed to relieve his frustration and he always felt good after a loud rant. If the people were mentally scarred, it wasn't his problem.

Ed grinned – the distraction was perfect, and he didn't want to stay a moment later with the crazy people.

"Since it doesn't seem like anyone wants me here, I'll just leave—"

Suddenly, a set of hands slammed on the table and Vance stood up, eyes blazing. An image of a certain blonde-haired woman overlayed her briefly in his mind, and all panic sensors flew haywire.

_Oh shii—_

"Elric! Grab a seat and _sit down_!" She snarled, obviously unimpressed by his trick. Of all the people to notice, it had to be _her_?

Ed grumbled childishly but didn't move from the doorway. "Don' wanna sit with a bunch of idiots."

The shouting started again but stopped as soon as Vance glared at them. She looked back to Ed, demeanour doing a full one-eighty. "At least listen to what we have to say, and then we'll let you do whatever you want."

Sighing, Ed walked back in and chose a relatively clean patch of wall to lean on.

"So? Don't tell me this magic thing's true, alright. Someone out there's tricking you and I plan to put a stop to them."

"What would you say it was, then?" Another person challenged, a dark-haired woman with a prim expression with eyes that reminded him of a stern schoolteacher. "Surely you can't have any other explanation."

Ed shrugged. "I can't deny there's _something_, but it's definitely not magic."

"We'll work from that then." Vance nodded. "What do you prefer we call it?"

"Some kind of energy, I suppose."

"Wait, Vance," another man at the table asked, one with a wheezy voice and grey hair. "Why go so far for one..._boy_?"

Ed twitched, suppressing his urge to kill. Not-short-not-short-not-_short..._

Vance shrugged amicably, and a feral grin on her face became his only warning before she spoke. "He may seem _insignificant_, Doge, but this _shrimp_ is pretty good at a few _little_ things, despite his _short_ stature."

Ohoho, she was _so damn_ getting it! Insulting him _on purpose_ without caring at all _or_ even answering _any_ of his questions!

"_WHO'RE YOU CALLING SO SMALL THAT HE COULDN'T EVEN BE SEEN OVER THE TABLE? WHO'RE YOU CALLING SO SMALL THAT HE COULD FIT BETWEEN THE TINIEST CRACK IN THE FLOOR, HUH?"_ He clapped his hands and slammed them into the floor to perform the transmutation, channelling a strong source of energy in the air – the 'magic' must've been used a lot in his current area. "_CAN A SHRIMP DO THIS?"_

'This' obviously referred to the giant series of spikes emerging from the ground, pointing every which way. Several pierced through the wooden table the rest of the 'Order' sat around, one particularly large one pointing right under Vance's chin. Smirking rather than sharing the scared, fearful or amazed look that everyone else in the room had, Ed realised that he had been goaded into using alchemy on purpose.

_Damn that woman_, he cursed. When he prepared to transmute something out of the wall behind her and conk her head, an all-too familiar cry passed through the air.

"_Stupefy!_" Lupin called, and the older man near him also had his wand outstretched.

Ed would have rolled his eyes and punched the nearest hard surface, but the energy kept him stunned and paralysed in place. He compensated with a rather annoyed groan, noting that it only prevented the major muscle groups from performing any action.

"You see, Doge," Vance continued, as if it were nothing when Lupin cast the counter-jinx as soon as Ed had calmed, "_that's_ why I believe we need to have him on our side."

She didn't need to say any more – everyone was staring at Ed as if he'd just pulled a rabbit out of a hat or something equally as strange.

"That's some impressive work," the older man at the interrogation commented.

"That's more than impressive, Mad-Eye," another redhead man commented, getting up to survey the damage. Ed wondered if all the redheads at the table were related. "Your name's Edward Elric?"

Ed nodded, and the man extended an arm to shake – his right arm, Ed winced. He surreptitiously touched his hands together as if he were nervous, warming the palm of his automail hand before accepting the handshake.

"I'm Bill," he introduced himself. "Bill Weasley."

He then looked to the rest of the mess Ed made, seeing discussions about how to restore the floor and the table. The strict woman from earlier was having the most effect to the cause, muttering several things under her breath and waving her stick-wand around. Several sections mended themselves slowly but without the perfection and skill a State Alchemist would've possessed.

Bill gestured to the rest of it. "Can you fix that?"

Two claps later, the floor and the table were restored to normal as if nothing had ever occurred. Ed gave himself an additional clap to remove the dust that had rubbed off the wall and the floor from his clothes, and made a mental note to get some red fabric as he inspected the weird robe he 'borrowed'.

He sighed and turned back to them, wanting to know how much more he had to stand before he could leave. Instead, he saw them staring at him with so much surprise it was easy enough to imagine all of their jaws on the floor.

Pfft, and they said that magic existed. Stupid idiots.

* * *

Somehow, Ed had gotten cajoled into sitting with them at the table. He'd chosen the end seat and gotten his hands on some of the food responsible for the delicious smell earlier. His presence made for a rather funny scene, since the seats to either side of him were empty as he inhaled the hot soup down as fast as he could, careful not to scald his tongue.

The conversation was still quite awkward too, but Ed hadn't minded – he was busy trying to please his stomach, after all. His Equivalent Exchange would be to listen to them peacefully without asking any questions. Or at least, anything too awkward.

"So you're saying," Ed said skeptically around a mouthful of potato, "that this 'dark wizard' Lord whats-his-shorts is alive again and terrorising the population by using the type of energies that can kill, maim and-or torture?"

He noticed some of the shocked looks at the butchering of their so-called 'Lord Voldemort's name and snickered at their mindless fear. Regardless, the stern woman who he'd come to know as McGonagall just nodded.

"That's some serious bullcrap." He picked up his fork and led a piece of lamb into his mouth before using the utensil as his pointer. "For starters, I'm not doubting that he's using this energy stuff to cause harm. It's quite possible." Stopping the swirls in the air, he drew a cross. "But what I don't see is how he came back from the dead. It's just not possible."

...unless someone was stupid enough to perform a human transmutation.

A frown came from the black-haired boy who was supposedly the 'saviour' of the 'Wizarding World' called Harrien Trotter or something (he knew his name, he really did, but he'd probably been sidetracked by how amazingly hilarious they made the guy's three-minute biography sound). "He's back."

Ed raised an eyebrow, allowing the speared carrot another minute of pre-chewed freedom. "I doubt it. It's probably a fake or something. Did you see his supposed 'resurrection'?"

"Weren't you listening?" His redheaded friend asked. "I told you; he _saw_ You-Know-Who being revived in a graveyard during our fourth year! You tell him, Harry!"

Ed's brain stopped for a moment as soon as he heard the words, not able to believe how stupid some of the 'wizards' were. Unfortunately, this had bad consequences as he had been swallowing the carrot and lamb mixture in his mouth and ended up choking. He reached for the pitcher to clear it, his brain working in overdrive.

Harry had started speaking, but for the most part he'd ignored him.

_Someone stupid had performed human transmutation, so a homunculus was definitely created._

"Voldemort had me pinned up against a gravestone—"

_A homunculus, hah – something like Lust, or Envy, the son of my father. That bastard._

"—then Wormtail put something in before taking my blood—"

_It's not improbable that there's a 'wizard' out there idiotic enough to perform human transmutation seeing as my father and I both did—_

"—and then I think he got a bundle or something of the most disgusting thing—"

—_and I bet that bastard Envy was probably laughing like mad when he'd leaped out of the Gate and found Dante._

"—before there was this great hiss of smoke and Voldemort stepped out of the cauldron."

...

Ed spit out the drink the moment he tried to swallow – or tried to. Whether it was a result of the unexpected sickly-sweet taste and sweet texture of the liquid or disbelief at his thoughts, he didn't know. Whatever it was, being stuck between a choke and a cough wasn't the best move. He doubted the Harry-boy knew what he was thinking though, seeing the immature look of triumph on his face after noting Ed's reaction – he was probably thinking that Ed finally believed him and his story.

It was far from it.

Failing his attempt in stifling the laughter that threatened to break past, Ed enjoyed his little mental zone for a while longer. His father performing human transmutation, resulting in Envy jumping out of a hissing cauldron and laughing like mad before skipping out the window where Dante was hiding.

Thumping his chest to try and clear his poor, abused throat, Ed reluctantly got back up and straightened himself, returning to his food and pretending nothing had happened. His giant smile gave him away though, and he was subjected to quite a few obvious stares.

Sometimes, life was brilliant. Absolutely shining.

* * *

**A/N: **Yeah, we'll be seeing him at Grimmauld for one or two more chapters; this isn't something I want to drag out, but seeing it's his first appearance meeting them it's something that'd take a while anyway. I had a lot of fun writing the food scene – any time a character has an excuse to wave a fork around is a good time ^^

I should stop naming my chapters before I write them, shouldn't I? Ahaha.

Thanks for reading! I hope I've improved from before :)

-Nyght


	6. Chapter 6: One plus One equals Two

**A/N: **Sorry for the small delay – the internet connection I have has been acting up about all week because our modem doesn't seem to be charging at all, and I haven't been able to reply to a huge group of reviews as well. If you're reading this now, actually, my friend's the one who's uploading it for me. ^^;;

Thanks for all the reviews! You guys inspire me so much, it's great to see you're enjoying this. Suggestions, comments and such are appreciated too ;)

Here's chapter six; thanks for sticking with me! ^_^

* * *

**Immiscibility  
**_by . NyghthawK ._

**Chapter Six: One plus One equals Two**

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and Saviour of the Wizarding World was stunned.

Edward Elric, for lack of a better term, was an enigma. A puzzling, _frustrating_ enigma. Sometimes the guy acted unbelievably tense in the way that only few members of the Order like Kingsley were, and sometimes he acted like a crazy little twelve-year-old rather than his age of twenty.

Emmeline Vance was the person who brought him to the Order's attention. It should have been impossible to Apparate into Headquarters whilst still under the effects of a Full-Body Bind, but she'd ignored all the questions and directed the members to the muggle hospital she had been staying at; for all its creations, the Wizarding World fell short when it came to wounds that couldn't heal by magic.

And at first he'd thought it was because of the Death Eaters attacking the place, but the strange, distant part-curious part-probing look she had on her face sparked his curiosity. There also may have been a murmur somewhere about a 'shorty' not doing anything reckless, but his conversation with his best friends dragged him back and it soon lay forgotten.

The force had Apparated back a half hour later with a Stunned person levitated between them wearing the Death Eaters' signature cloak. Vance gave an odd half-smile before thanking Moody for using her favour on something so unusual, but quickly informed the rest about their visitor and his mysterious ability.

Harry'd peered around their retreating backs as they took the guy away, but only managed to spot a flash of golden hair from a fallen hood.

When Moody and Lupin finished their questioning, he hadn't known what to expect. He'd expected some kind of chivalrous, charismatic person like Diggory, or even a wise but slightly odd person like Dumbledore (_no, he couldn't think about them—_) especially considering that the guy was only twenty.

Instead, he'd gotten a blunt, loud-spoken kid with an egocentric complex and a muggle. He was also infinitely stubborn, especially considering he would keep correcting them about the existence of magic despite the amazing trick with the floor.

After bargaining with him (his patience and open ears for Molly Weasley's famous cooking) they'd tried to explain everything about Voldemort and get into his mind _why_ the man was a feared dark wizard and definitely not anyone to go around calling 'mouldy-shorts', as funny as it was. (Harry suspected the man _did_ know the Dark Lord's real name, but just found some morbid humour in getting some reaction.)

And what he'd done when Harry'd spent his time explaining Voldemort's power and his reappearance? Edward Elric had laughed and continued to poke fun at him, even when inhaling food faster than should have been possible for a normal person.

At that point, Harry was well beyond the stage of Vance's strange request to give information and into frustration – even if it were only everything that had been published, they were giving him _something_ and getting virtually _nothing_ in return. The man's patience was squat to what he had seen and done!

When he'd explained the Graveyard scene again, at the edge of his patience, he'd been relieved when Elric had choked on his pumpkin juice, a look of realisation flashing across his features. However, that relief was quick to change into annoyance as the blonde deteriorated into laughter for a minute but soon he got back up an instant later and pretended all was normal, finishing the last of his food and placing the cutlery down with a self-satisfied smile.

Harry wasn't impressed as the feigned ignorance snapped his last straw.

"Why don't you believe me?" he shouted, slamming his hands onto the table and outright _glaring_ at the man. Elric seemed to chortle and didn't bother trying to hide it, something that just ticked him off all the more. "You acknowledge the existence of magic, but you just laugh at what I say when the _whole world_ could be in danger—_stop laughing, damnit!_"

Honestly, Harry expected some kind of lighthearted, teasing remark as his reply and had prepared a rant accordingly. He never expected a finger to reach out and hold down the empty bowl, stopping it from clattering any further. Elric looked at him, all his humour leaving his face and his demeanour.

"Sit down, Potter."

Harry didn't want to comply, but the tone the blonde used didn't match the cynical or sardonic behaviour he'd expressed earlier. Instead, it was almost like his personality did a complete one-eighty. The tired, reminiscent and world-weary tone compared far better to Dumbledore's, automatically demanding respect being wizened and well-read.

Elric no longer looked twelve, or even twenty, but like someone much, much older.

"I wasn't laughing at you, you know." The man ran a hand through his hair tiredly, a strange look flashing across his features before disappearing an instant later. "I was laughing at...a memory."

Harry glared. "People don't laugh like that at memories."

"They do if the memories are some of the only things they've got left."

The words were so sincere and heartfelt that Harry couldn't say anything else, even though he opened his mouth to try and form the words in his head. Elric didn't seem to notice his fish impersonation and continued, glancing at no particular point at all through and past his arm.

"Listen...don't concern yourself with doing anything right now. Not about this 'saving the world' business or anything else. Wait until you're older."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You're saying I'm too young."

"No." Elric shot back, as if expecting the response. "I'm saying that you shouldn't try to follow in the footsteps others have carved for you, and make your own decisions. You don't know how the world works."

Harry opened his mouth again, but Elric beat him to it.

"I'm not telling you to do anything. I'm not doubting that your recollection of what you've been through is the truth. I'm just suggesting that you should enjoy your childhood while it still lasts."

He was surprised when the blonde stood up and dusted the crumbs off his cloak, wiping his mouth on the robe's sleeve. Elric moved to the door and made to leave, but Bill shouted before he reached the door.

"Edward! Where're you going?"

Elric shrugged. "I'm leaving. What does it look like? Our deal has passed, so now I've got to find somewhere to stay."

"You can stay here," Sirius commented idly. "I mean, we've certainly got enough rooms and another reason to piss my old mam off is a good reason to me."

"I can't."

"Whyever not?" Molly Weasley asked in the condescending tone that seemed to come naturally to mothers, giving disobedient children no choice but to give them an answer. Harry saw Elric wince a little before hiding it. "Why can't you stay?"

"I...can't." Elric persisted. "It's not a part of Equivalency."

The unmistakable sliding sound of a wooden chair against the stone floor resounded from down the table, and Harry turned to see McGonagall standing.

"Mister Elric, may I please have a word?"

Elric raised an eyebrow, back to his usual self again. "That's new. What's it now?"

"Outside this room, perhaps. My offer and free choice for your open ears, once more."

Harry wasn't sure how the simple statement caused Elric to stiffen and nod in agreement before walking out the door, McGonagall following behind him. He glanced over to Fred and George who had been hurriedly whispering amongst themselves and they shook their heads upon seeing his gaze – they couldn't use Extendable Ears, not this time.

A few moments after the door closed the voice level in the room returned to as it had been, the metaphorical spell Elric placed on them fading away and leaving people conversing again.

"What do you think is up with that guy?" Ron asked as he turned to Harry, who shrugged. "I think he's a bloody nutter, laughin' at memories like that."

"Everyone laughs at memories, Ron." Hermione interjected. "Let's say, Malfoy plus ferret?"

Ron snickered before remembering what he was saying, only the bright red tips of his ears betraying his embarrassment. "Alright, fine. But he was laughing was like they were happening right now."

"He _did_ say that they were some of the only things he had left, Ronald."

Wisely, Ron dropped the subject lest his pride get hurt further. "He said all those things to you too, didn't he? What do you think?"

Harry looked down at his feet. Even though Elric had told him to not follow in the footsteps people carved for him as the Boy Who Lived, he knew his curiosity was strong enough to lead him anyway...besides, didn't the guy mention for him to enjoy his childhood? Curiosity was a natural part of childhood, wasn't it?

...and more specifically, what prompted the man to say those things in the first place?

"I think he knows more than he's letting on," he finally said. "But we'll probably never know for sure."

* * *

_My offer and free choice for your open ears, once more._

The woman knew about Equivalent Exchange, Ed concluded by the time he'd stepped outside the door. Or at least, she knew that he operated by Equivalent Exchange.

She closed the door behind her and swished her stick-wand to light the lamps in the corridor. Ed couldn't stop the twitch from seeing the lack of Equivalency in the action – magic was _not_ real, otherwise he and his brother would never have lost so much in the first place.

"I am Minerva, Minerva McGonagall," she stated immediately, as if sensing his want to leave. "You're an alchemist, aren't you?"

Ed's frown deepened at the statement – his suspicions were answered, but alchemy couldn't be used on their side of the Gate and therefore no one should have known about it.

...though of course, he broke that first rule about five times already.

"So you did know."

McGonagall nodded. "Yes – alchemy is a dying art due to this...Equivalent Exchange, but it _does_ in fact exist for us. I heard it from a man who worked with the former headmaster on a sorcerer's stone."

Ed only glanced down the corridor. As if sensing his boredom, McGonagall continued.

"I'll make this quick, Mister Elric. I'm sure you'd much rather be somewhere else right now. I would like you to teach alchemy to the students at Hogwarts."

"_What?_"

"I would like you to teach alchemy," she repeated, not leaving any room for pause. "In return, as Headmistress I would like to offer you free room and board for your entire stay, complete with three meals a day and access to any of the functions available within the school. And also the usual wage, though if you have no need for one a temporary fund can be set up to purchase any of your needs instead. The usual teaching position for any other subject."

Ed blinked. "Why do you think I'd take it, then?" That was usually more effective than bluntly asking her to make it interesting for him – he _did_ need the room and board, and since it was a school for the...'magic' thing it meant the energy resource in the air was constantly added to and thickened, perfect for his alchemy.

But teaching a group of disrespectful youngsters? Hardly.

"That's not something I can answer, Mister Elric. This offer will stand until you either leave or I return to the room."

Damnit, she was making it hard for him to negotiate. The fact that he'd already been swung into accepting it from the beginning didn't help, but he knew quite well how hard it was to find a place to stay and food to eat without transmuting ridiculous amounts of economy-upsetting gold. The difficulty had almost been enough to convince him in joining the military again just for their research fund.

Almost. Bastard Mustang's face when he did so would have been so punchable, but due to the rank he'd have it wasn't anything he could pull.

_Plus_, he tried to cheer himself up, _it's a school, so it should have a library._

_The books are all about 'magic'_, the other part of him grumbled. _We don't need that._

The first part smirked victoriously. _But the 'magic' is what's letting us do alchemy, isn't it? With books on it, it'll be easy enough to find out how and why and see Al again._

...He hated it when anyone pulled the 'Al' card, but this seemed to be just another one of those times when he couldn't even win an argument against himself.

"Fine," he conceded, almost cursing himself for uttering the word. "I'll do it."

* * *

**A/N: **I really have to stop naming chapters before I write them, haha.

So, what do you think? I'm kind of worried about the Harry POV, but I hope my editing's patched it up a little bit more. I just hope the progression to this point's realistic or something, honestly ^^;;

Haah, you probably noticed I took the sneaky way out of the Ed Freaks Out About The HP Philosopher's Stone by using the American name even though we use the British version of the books here in Australia. I don't want to focus too much on the Stone since lots of other stories have done it already, but there might be a little scene in it later on. (If you _really_ haven't noticed it by now, I'm trying to write this whole story with majorly different ideas and focuses – I use so many of the less focused characters from the HPverse as well)

Thanks for reading!

—Nyght


	7. Chapter 7: Emmeline Vance

**A/N: **Sorry for not updating last weekend – I know I was trying to keep updating every Saturday, but exams called. I've got a lot of fanfiction-related things to catch up on, but good news is that school's over for this year and tuition starts again in January, so I should be able to update more. Here's hoping! This chapter's me practising characterization and a mandatory timefiller because otherwise it's too rushed.

Thanks to all the reviewers! I'll get to replying after I catch up. Oh yeah, it seems that nobody paid any attention to my note in chapter one because some people are still confused. I wonder if anyone reads my Author's Notes anyway?

* * *

**Immiscibility  
**_by . NyghthawK ._

**Chapter Seven: Emmeline Vance**

Emmeline Vance was one of the most seasoned Aurors in the Order of the Phoenix, being one of the few that could claim serving for both the First Order against Grindelwald and the second, the one against the Dark Lord Voldemort.

She knew her reasons for joining were different to most of the others, since she didn't join out of a sense of duty to the side of the Light. As a Ravenclaw at heart, her analytical mind refused the fairytale of good and bad – something that was only made stronger as she continued to work her years in the Wizard Catching department, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

When she really sat down and thought about why she'd joined the Order in the first place, she'd concluded that she knew Dumbledore's side would be the one to win the war, and to get closer to the man himself. It was also because she felt in debt to the man during her school years, staying behind and teaching her further in the art of Transfiguration and wandwork, using his time without charge out of free and good will.

Everything in the world was dictated by logic, and there was no room for the unpredictable element called emotion.

That was why, she supposed, that she felt such respect for Edward Elric. Elric never wavered from the philosophy of equal trade she'd noticed so easily – even if his emotions were to get in the way, his stubborn mind was enough to wrench him and ensure that he never strayed.

When Minerva returned shortly with Elric and requested a room from Sirius for a week, Emmeline knew that behind that door the two of them had made some form of equivalent deal to change his mind and accept the room and board. She didn't question it though, only sitting there soundlessly as Molly jumped up and ushered the young man out and upstairs, leaving the Order there to discuss the events that had occurred.

Unsurprisingly, Alastor was the first to speak.

"What are you playing at, Vance? You called in a favour to bring the boy here and you reveal to him the Order. We've followed along you since you seem to know the boy best, and even though you've had him show his power you haven't brought him into the Order."

Emmeline gave a sort of half-interested shrug, knowing she couldn't possibly tell them how valuable equal trade was to both him and herself, and especially how Elric wouldn't have accepted because there was no reason for him to accept. Instead, she gave them her pre-planned half-truth, knowing the question would have been asked. "Elric isn't a person to be tied down, Alastor. Surely, you've noticed that already."

And his eyes. When he looked straight in to the path of her analysis at the hospital daringly rather than glancing away, she saw a boy that shouldn't have been a man, having seen and experienced far too much to stay that way. He had seen more than Aurors twice his age, and she could tell one further important fact.

He had once killed, though not willingly.

It was Remus who answered.

"Being a part of the Order does not necessarily mean tying down the other person. It is a duty to serve what is right, not chains that bind and force the person to stay."

Another question easy enough to answer. "Elric wouldn't view it that way, and you know it. I don't know where his sense of duty is, but forcibly having him join our side isn't free will in any way." Emmeline looked up. "The best we can do right now is show him that we're reasonable and that our side is ultimately better in the war compared to the Dark Lord's, and that's what we've done."

Her tone wasn't in the form of a suggestion. It was an order, carried with the might of a determined Ravenclaw.

"But are you sure he's not the Dark Lord's spy—"

Black barked a laugh. "Hah, you saw him, Moony! The kid was twitchy and antsy even at the mention of magic – there's no way he'd want to raise the purebloods to power when he's like that."

"I was just trying to be safe," Remus shrugged.

There was a small pause, the memory of Dumbledore's death still haunting many of the members even slightly over a month.

"How do you think he did it?" One of the redheaded Weasley children asked – Ron, she remembered. "I mean, he used that weird hand-clapping thing, but that was some _sick_ magic."

A few members looked to Emmeline and she gave a shrug. Honestly, she had no clue, but she would have rather gone to a library and found out through her own efforts instead of just asking and getting an answer off someone else. All forms of magic were traceable, and she was sure Elric's would be the same.

"Would you know anything, Minerva?" Alastor asked suspiciously, turning to the woman in question. "You did talk to him for a while."

It was not difficult to miss Minerva's pause, and her contemplative expression. She glanced around at the people at the table, her eyes lingering slightly on the Golden Trio.

"Yes," she answered finally. "Dumbledore informed me about this, and especially to offer services to any 'Elric's I may meet."

Potter jerked. "_Dumbledore_?"

A nod was his reply. "As for his reasons, I am not sure. What I do know is that he is an alchemist."

"Alchemy's a dead art!" The Granger girl exclaimed, and a few around the table nodded. "But anyway, even if it could be used it can only be used for creating the Sorceror's Stone, not any of the things he's done so far."

Emmeline watched the headmistress carefully for any reaction, noting the slight stiffening of her back and pursing of her lips. Dumbledore had definitely told her far more than what she'd revealed, and she was fighting with herself on how much she could tell without betraying his trust.

But that was no good. If Dumbledore knew and told her only, it was likely that that sort of information was only conveyed verbatim and would not be written in any books at all.

She made a quick decision.

"Equal trade," she stated and noticed Minerva's eyelids briefly flicker. Good, she was on the right track. "Elric uses a philosophy of equal trade and you certainly seemed to know it well, Minerva."

Emmeline trailed off, making sure her remark was more of a prompt rather than her usual demand.

Briefly, Minerva's eyes flickered in her direction. "I told you that I am unsure of the details, but what I am certain of is that alchemy is applied on a basis of Equivalent Exchange. Something must be given for another to be gained, and that was why alchemy fell out of favour a few hundred years ago with the advent of magic."

"Why were you outside with the boy so long anyway?" Moody asked.

Minerva's eyes shifted briefly again, this time to the door as if Elric were overhearing their conversation. This time it was barely noticeable, and Emmeline only spotted it from her intense scrutiny. "He wouldn't accept the room and board, so I offered him an equivalent trade so he could."

"What's this offer?" asked Arthur, looking up from inspecting the table.

It was almost too quickly and even a little bit expected when Minerva headed for the door out of habit, a sure sign that the conversation was over. "Enough. I'll be needing Elric's room at Grimmauld for a week, Sirius. Provide him with what he needs – all expenses will be going to me. Make sure he is ready to leave on Sunday, nine o'clock sharp."

"Yes, ma'am," Black drawled. He'd only had time to give her a salute and a toothy grin when she turned, disapparating with an extremely loud crack. Then he mock-sighed, glancing at Remus mournfully. "Thirty years and still no sense of humour, her."

In response, the supposed convict just received a slap on the head.

* * *

Ed yawned, a huge yawn that felt like it stretched the boundaries of the universe and then sighed contentedly as he felt a few joints pop and free themselves. The past week he'd somehow been cajoled into spending at the house he was captured in (which he soon came to know as 'Grimmauld Place', but not much more than that) and it would have been an understatement to say that he was shocked about _how_ much 'magic' was even used in the home alone.

He had to acknowledge that it wasn't _completely_ a bad thing, despite how lazy it made them. The excess energy was what his transmutations were fuelled by, and having a constant resupply meant he could use alchemy where he normally could not. He'd even gotten some of the fabric he needed and remade the Fullmetal Alchemist's standard outfit, along with a few extra spares.

But really, he was bored.

If he were still in Amestris, he mused, he would probably be out travelling and exploring, trying to find ways to restore his brother's memories. As for Al, the last he'd heard was that he was at Winry's, resting for a bit after his training stint with Izumi and preparing to head off on a journey of his own – something that Ed had grudgingly consented to, providing he didn't randomly find the urge to take the State Alchemist Exam.

(Al had to swear his word thrice over the phone plus what sounded like an additional whack from Izumi before Ed deemed it finally alright to believe him before promising to call in a week. They didn't need another dog of the military in the Elric family name, and Ed had quit anyway.)

He'd never called, though, since he'd stumbled across Mustang's assassination plans whilst following one of his best leads. That was when he made the third major mistake he'd ever made, the first being the attempted human transmutation and the second as joining the military in the first place.

He still wasn't sure what had happened, either. One moment he was listening against the wall to find out more information, the next someone had found him and he had drawn up a stone wall to protect himself. At some point he'd lost the concentration he had on his mental array and tried to start a new one for manipulating the iron in the ground instead without terminating the old – two arrays for two completely different purposes, but only one briefly, adrenaline-fuelled mind to control them. It became just one twenty-year old versing at least four highly trained assassins in just about every field of expertise. His stubborn insistence to Al forced him to stay at home, so he didn't have his brother as his usual secondary support either.

And then the rebound was able to open the Gate, and he found himself grazing a bullet and brought through with its momentum.

Ed closed his eyes and punched the wall to relieve his frustration, relishing the violent shake but not the sheer amount of dust it brought up. He couldn't think about what had happened, only what could happen and definitely no 'what if's.

_What could happen, huh..._

There_ was _the small matter about being a professor and teaching alchemy to a bunch of stupid brats. With a small wince, he reflected that Izumi probably felt the same when being pestered by him and his brother and found a new respect for her.

Unfortunately for him, he wasn't allowed to treat the students the way he had been treated during his own training. Ah, well; c'est la vie.

He slumped down further into his chair and checked the time. It was nine o'clock exactly, the time in which the woman was supposed to meet him and take him to wherever he needed to be. Bored, he amused himself with undoing his ponytail and braiding it instead in a quick series of flurried movements.

By then, she had arrived.

"Mister Elric," she greeted. "There are two weeks until the start of the school term, and you have two choices on what you wish to do during that time. You may remain at Grimmauld Place, or come to the school beforehand as teachers are permitted to arrive in the two weeks prior to September 1st. Either option doesn't matter, but a curriculum must be organized before the occasion."

Ed sighed, but made the decision with ease. "I think I'll go to this school, then." He wasn't blind; he noticed all the curious looks the other occupants gave him.

"Very well. If you'll come with me I'll escort you to the platform so that you may catch the train on the way there, as the anti-apparation wards are still raised and the Ministry is monitoring portkeys and fireplaces extremely closely. It would do no good to alert them to your presence at this time – though it is not illegal, they would certainly send an ungodly amount of paperwork to purposefully delay your teaching."

Despite a part of him wanting that very thing to happen, Ed just nodded and picked up the suitcase he newly transmuted. "Let's go."


	8. Chapter 8: Two Weeks Later

**A/N: **I've gone back and cut out a huge part of my old authors' notes and clarified a bit more, so it should be less distracting now, aha, and I also re-wrote the summary. I won't be able to update tomorrow since I have to leave the house, so I'm doing it today instead ^^ If I can, I'll see if I can get more written so I can do a double-update :) (I'm not really happy with such an important chapter, but this is the most fluid thing I can do right now)

Thanks to all the reviewers for their encouragement, and Merry Christmas! =D

* * *

**Immiscibility  
**_by . NyghthawK ._

**Chapter Eight: Two Weeks Later**

Ed sighed, almost falling asleep as the evening just dragged on and on and _on_.

It was now official: Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist, _hated_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. (Grimmauld wasn't so bad, he just locked himself in his room all day.)

He hated how everything in it was 'magical', and nobody paid it a second glance. He hated how people used the whole 'magic' thing everywhere without even thinking. He hated how it was impossible to go _anywhere_ without something 'magical' in your face; even the library was out of the question for his research, as it seemed to believe the whole _magic_ concept was true!

And that led him to his final point.

He _hated_ how the stupid people were brainwashing each generation after the other so that they became stupider and stupider, believing in the 'magic' nonsense entirely.

Oh, if anyone were to ask _why_ he hated it when he acknowledged there was something there, it was because the entire idea of even _calling_ it 'magic' was _appalling_. Magic didn't exist. If it existed, why did he and Al have to go through so much pain? If it existed, why wasn't the world a better place?

If it existed, _where the _fuck_ was the Equivalency?_

Equivalency was a fact of life. There _must_ have been some, _somewhere_. He'd reluctantly gone and combed through a huge and _ginormous_ section in the completely inaccurate library in search for more information, enduring three weeks of reading and being shouted at by the librarian for throwing the books into the wall. He'd ended up with barely finishing even a tenth of the collection, only gaining several bruises on his head.

It was also proven fact that Edward Elric had the biggest, widest and most _determined_ stubborn streak in all of Amestris. His pride bowed down to none.

(Not even his brother or Winry could make him lose it, he only...ah, _tilted_ it aside.)

Ed grumbled, sitting further down the uncomfortable wooden chair and trying not to think about his homeland. He tried to distract himself by watching the children file into the 'Great Hall' from their holidays, trying _not_ to look at the ceiling, _not_ to look at the ghosts and _not_ to look at the various magical happenings around him.

Obviously, it failed. Spectacularly, seeing as the entire school was all about the energy they insisted was 'magic'. They'd jokingly offered him a blindfold too, but his ego rejected the idea.

But sitting there, he was starting to wish he did have it though...

He grumbled, turning to look at the Headmistress instead. Apparently she'd noticed his sheer reluctance to teach – _finally_ someone was observant enough in his favour – and only had him once again take up the position of the old Alchemy instructor, a position that only required the teaching of the last two years of schooling, and only having about two classes at the most.

Thank whoever-answered-to-atheists, he didn't have to deal with whiney, bratty kids all day. Plus, it still fell in his original agreement of Equivalence.

Absently, he started to doodle transmutation circles on the napkin with the pen he'd carried everywhere on him, after discovering that the 'wizards' were so outdated they used quills and parchment. At some point everyone had sat down and the Headmistress had started speaking, but he ignored it for the most part and kept working on his arrays.

He'd been trying to solve a hitch in the circle he made up to artificially replicate photosynthesis in his boredom when his name was called.

"—Edward Elric, our new Alchemy Professor."

There were some sounds of scattered applause and Ed looked up to see all the students glancing at him curiously, obviously wondering why he was wearing such a strange outfit and outright ignoring the proceedings. He gave a little distracted wave to the students as he worked around the chlorophyll, spotting the three kids who had been at the weird Phoenix meeting in the crowd as he turned back to his napkin.

Even though Ed had been at the school for a while already, he still wasn't used to the food appearing on the tables – the first time it'd happened, he'd glared and poked at the vegetables with no little amount of distrust. He made regular visits to the kitchen instead, or they would have to deliver it by hand to his rooms on the days he didn't if they wanted any chance of him eating, so it hadn't surprised him that no food appeared near his plate at all.

Instead, he leant over and snagged another napkin to continue his calculations, making a mental note to get some food after the feast.

Eleven napkins, seven angles of approach and a spilled drink later, he found himself still no better than he had been before. Abruptly, all the food disappeared, taking all of his napkin-notes with it. He scowled – hadn't those idiots _learnt_ not to take anything belonging to him during his stay, not even the scraps in the wastepaper basket? As a result, his time had been wasted and his work had all been for naught! (Though that was kind of the point of attempting to do the impossible, because every good alchemist knew that photosynthesis outside of a plant could never work.)

He heard the word 'alchemy' again, and decided it was a good time to start listening to the Headmistress again instead of moping over what couldn't have been done.

"—is a very specific branch of wandless magic, only for those with the deepest determination and will of mind."

Ed figured it wasn't worth the effort to give her another lecture about how alchemy wasn't 'magic', since every last time hadn't seemed to have any effect.

"A demonstration, Professor Elric, if you would?"

Getting out of his chair, he groaned and walked to the centre of the hall, absently twirling a piece of chalk between his fingertips. When she'd asked him to prepare a demonstration considering how little-known alchemy was in their little secluded corner of the universe, he'd never really gone to the effort into planning anything.

He kicked the ground with a sigh, before kneeling down and sketching a quick, simple circle to analyse the components so he knew what type of specialist array to use. Touching a finger to it, he wracked his brain for a design that would be flashy enough for his personality but modest enough to prevent hordes of students signing up for his class, and yet elegant enough to display the full potential the art possessed..

His analysis complete, he wondered why he'd bothered checking in the first place. Calcium carbonate. He should have known, it wasn't as if their whole 'magic' thing would have changed the stone's base materials.

Drawing a new array in a series of quick, simple strokes – it looked like he wasn't out of practice after all – he inspected it quickly for any sign of mistake, since messing up his calculations was what screwed him over and got him to this side in the first place. He was almost thankful he'd been shot before the rebound could do much worse.

...

He still couldn't think of a design. It'd been a while since he performed alchemy for exhibitionary purposes, anyway.

Phah, why was he even taking it so seriously in the first place?

Placing his hands down on the edge, he opted for something simple and familiar. Memorable blue light glowed around him as he channelled the residual energy in the air, and when it faded a perfect replica of the armour that once held his brother stood beside him like a watchful guard, a spear in its hands and both carved with each and every last intricate detail.

For a brief moment he was reminded of the days when he and Al would go travelling for the Philosopher's Stone but discarded it immediately. Taking the spear out of the armour's hands and systematically spinning it in the air, he made sure to aim extra close to a few people' ears before returning the spear and the armour back into the ground with another flash.

Excited whispering and murmuring broke out when he returned to his seat but McGonagall held a hand to silence them, continuing her speech.

"Whilst this is usually an optional elective N. E. W. T. course, due to the abrupt circumstances it will be held as an extra-curricular class instead. It is not something to be trifled with and has high demands – eligible applicants must have achieved at least an 'E' in Potions and an 'A' in Ancient Ruins or Arithmancy."

Ed grumbled under his breath as he remembered the sheet she'd forced him to sign, denoting the course requirements for the subject. He'd scoffed at the limited things available and how they were all about the 'magic' stuff again, but chosen the best he could.

"_However,_ since students were not informed of this course at the end of our last schooling year, Professor Elric has agreed to a two-month probationary period until the end of October for students who are interested in this course _and_ have at least one O. W. L. in the required subjects pre-specified."

He started poking the table with his pen, leaving dots and trails of ink where he did so. Agreed? She'd done all the planning for him, he'd just skimmed over it and nodded. His priority was to get home, warn Mustang, see Al and work at retrieving his brother's memories again. There wasn't anything else to it.

"Sign-up sheets will be provided on the notice board in each house's common room for those students interested in the class, and will be taken down at the end of the week." She clapped her hands. "Prefects, please lead your Houses to your dorms and be reminded that curfew for the older years has been changed to at nine o'clock."

Ed finally looked up when the sounds of students leaving reached his ears, and sighed.

"Can't stand them already?" A voice asked, and Ed turned around to see a hawk-eyed woman raise an eyebrow, a lopsided smile on her face.

He shook his head and tried not to look too long at the floating candles. "It's not that – I don't know how you guys can just be so at ease with magic around. It's unnatural."

"That's what I can easily say about what you do, but enough of that topic – I heard you've been discussing it for weeks!" she shrugged, her wolfish grin broadening. Then she extended a hand – her left one, Ed noticed with no little relief. "Name's Rolanda – Rolanda Hooch. Flying instructor, here at your service."

"Flying...?" He was sure he'd heard of it somewhere, probably in one of the many books that met his wall the moment he opened them.

"On brooms." She bopped the top of his head playfully when he opened his mouth to protest the ridiculousness of the statement and his opinion about the 'wizards' in general, stunning him into a state of quiet. "Don't give me that look. Even though you're not used to it we certainly are, and it's a part of our culture. At least try to respect it and not lash out without provocation."

Ed averted his eyes – he knew very well that people had their own beliefs, and as twisted as they could sometimes be they were their one and only truth; Eckhart was only one example of many.

Embarrasingly, his stomach growled, reminding him about his promise to visit the kitchens.

Hooch noticed, and smiled. "I'll leave you to it then, with that little something to think about. By the way, that was one _impressive_ trick you did out there just then; you certainly gave those kids quite a shocker."

When she reached the staff door, she looked back and grinned.

"I'll be looking forward to seeing you teach, _Professor Elric_."

* * *

**A/N:** Ed _really_ doesn't know what he's signed up for yet, does he?


	9. Chapter 9: Late Arrival

**A/N:** Sorry for disappearing off the internet even though I said I'd have more time – stuff came up, among them my brother using up all it watching videos, aha. (I won't bore you with excuses though)

Thanks for all the reviews, everyone! (the editing in this chapter might be a bit off, because I don't have much money left)

* * *

**Immiscibility  
**_by . NyghthawK ._

**Chapter Nine: Late Arrival**

Saying that Harry was surprised at seeing Elric at the teacher's table scribbling idly and ignoring everything in the vicinity would have been the truth. But, once he found out that the name of the blond's ability was called _alchemy_ and that he was at Hogwarts to teach that very same thing, 'surprise' no longer cut it.

He was shocked.

He no longer cared that the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher wasn't able to arrive; Elric was teaching a subject long-dead for hundreds of years as a N. E. W. T. class, and one that he happened to be eligible for due to his surprising 'E' in Potions. Hermione seemed to have the same idea and once they'd returned to their dorms she had been the first to scrawl her name down on the registration sheet, marking her eligibility from Potions, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy.

He and Ron hadn't been so quick to apply, just staring at each other and at the board and trying to figure out what to do.

"So should we do it?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. "Well, Hermione signed up, didn't she?"

"That's Hermione for you. Give her a pretty face and she'll sign up for _anything_—"

Ron choked and doubled over, revealing Hermione behind him with a scowl on her face – she'd kicked him in the shin, it seemed. "For your information, _Ronald_, I signed up because I wanted to learn more about the ancient art. And I do _not_ think about Professor Elric in that way!" She turned to leave, but stopped. "Oh hi, Harry – didn't see you there. Are you going to sign up as well?"

"Hi." Harry repeated dumbly until the rest of the sentence caught up with him. "I don't know..."

"You should; you've got the Potions O. W. L. for it anyway. It's a once in a lifetime experience, especially since I heard Professor Sprout mention that they didn't know if Professor Elric would be staying after this year."

"He won't?" Ron asked, nursing his poor and bruised leg. "Why not?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. So sign up if you want, just know that you won't get a chance to later."

For one last time, Harry and Ron glanced at each other before reaching for a quill.

* * *

The next morning, Ed could only grumble as he dragged himself down to the Hall for breakfast, determinedly looking at only his feet and the space in its near vicinity. For some reason, because the new Defence teacher was absent the day before, his presence was mandatory so he couldn't rely on his breakfast delivery to avoid the rest of the school. Hence, he could only drag his sorry self all the way down for the assembly.

At least the trip down went without any incidence, and he hadn't met any ghosts along the way.

Upon arriving through the Staff Door and gracelessly plonking into the seat he was in the day before (the ink splotches got cleaned in the meantime as well, unsurprisingly) he promptly greeted his face with the hard, wooden surface. Some small rebelling part of his brain snerked about how he was forced to come down, but it didn't mean he had to pay attention.

Something bounced off his head and he ignored it for the most part, grumbling to the table about the ridiculousness of owls being used for post and their inaccurate delivery drops. He never would have admitted it though, but Hooch's talk with him the night before honestly affected him and maybe, just _maybe_ was a key factor in his words not being as loud as they would have been.

"The Ministry was attacked last night?" A voice asked to his side – probably one of the many other staff members he hadn't been introduced to. "That's weird, I thought they were literally under You-Know-Who's power."

"Shh!" Another professor hissed, and he recognized the voice to be Filius Flitwick. It was no wonder he remembered the guy's name, considering he was one of the first people he met who were older than him and much, much shorter. "This shouldn't be discussed in public!"

After a small pause in which the two professors stopped their discussion, Ed heard the sound of a heavy chair scrape across the floor. By the way the entire hall fell silent at her appearance, he didn't need to look up to know the headmistress had arrived.

"Attention," she called. "I regret that yesterday I was unable to introduce the presence of our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, but please make Professor Umbridge welcome to our school."

Since he couldn't see anything except the table, Ed wondered if he was imagining the slightly stressed tone in her voice. It didn't matter though, because the doors to the Great Hall opened dramatically before a person stepped through, heels clicking against the stone floor.

Curious at the weak claps filling the room, far too less to even be considered as a result of sleeplessness, he lifted his head to see who the new arrival was and almost blanched. Clad in an outfit which would have definitely more suited a girl half her age, the woman that stepped in was probably the epitome of disgusting, if disgusting could even be ranked. She reminded him of a toad.

Ed took a brief moment to muse how even Mustang wouldn't have _talked_ to her despite his notorious womanizing ways, and sniggered.

Umbridge finished her journey along the centre aisle and then came to a stop before the Head Table, standing in the position the ridiculous singing hat normally sat in. The position gave her a good, clear view of all the students at each of the tables and she smiled, probably blind to the uninterested faces all around the room. She gave a disgustingly faux cough to clear her throat, before extending her arms in a parody of a gesture of welcome and acceptance.

"Good morning, students and teachers of Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! I apologise for forcing the kind headmistress to hold another assembly, but I'm happy to see such delighted little faces welcoming me and my stay."

One last glance across the room and seeing nothing but the bored, disgusted and half-asleep faces she probably couldn't see, Ed allowed his head to fall back onto the table so he could stop thinking about all the 'magic' around him. Whilst the Great Hall was the room some of the students liked the most due to its 'magical' qualities, it was the one he could stand the least for the very same reason.

Ed completely tuned out by the time she cleared her throat with another overly-girly '_hem, hem_', and as a result was only able to notice something about the Ministry, and something else about regulating things taught so they were right. Ha.

Flowery speeches and politics _really_ weren't his thing, and had never been during his stupid military stint – Mustang handled those parts, and sometimes Al.

Ed winced, burying his head further into his arms in an attempt to get the thoughts out of his head. He didn't need to be homesick, especially not now!

He sighed. No, he couldn't spend his time regretting the choices he'd made when he'd returned, since he could only find a way to get back. His plan, weak as it may have been, lay in using the twisted Equivalency and the energy this side of the Gate ran on in order to avoid payment. In order for him to do so, he needed to research it, and he only had about ten months to complete his studies lest he stay another year in the hellhole.

Vaguely he registered that the simpering voice had stopped, and looking up he saw everyone slowly trickling out of the hall. It was probably best he left as well, so he dragged himself up and somehow made it to the kitchens in one piece and asked for the weakest food he could think of to be delivered so he didn't have to carry it as he headed back.

Placing his key into the magically-reinforced lock (no completely incomprehensible password-locked moving painting, thank-you-very-much), he flinched as the key turned itself and the door swung open, making a note to get _that_ particular feature removed as well. Sure enough, the food sat on the table beside the stack of books he'd yet to go through, and Ed just took one glance at it before heading to open the window.

There was one week of complete freedom for himself until his classes started on the weekend, so he would have to make the most of his time productively before then. He groaned as he kicked the nearest wall, the wall that happened to be the target for all the books he deemed to be far too stupid for his tastes.

It was official: for the next ten months, his life was going to _suck_.

* * *

**A/N: **Yes, Ed. It's going to suck a _lot_. And stop being so stubborn, your denial's getting annoying, even though it's kinda been pushed just a teensy bit by Hooch in the last chapter. But don't worry, you'll get the shock you need coming up soon :)

Next chapter is his first lesson, any predictions now that Draco's gone? (Also, do you like what I did with the Alchemy classes? I'm very proud.) ^^


	10. Chapter 10: Hell Week

**A/N:** ．．．．．．．．．．．．

Honestly, I wish I could be in a better mood, especially for the ten chapter mark. An unbelievable amount of personal issues have jumped up, and fanfiction's not exactly one of my highest priorities right now :/ But still, thanks for all the support you've been leaving for the last ten chapters, and since this chapter was mostly written already I thought I'd finish it for you all. (I tried to spend more time on the editing this time since I was so lax on all those other important chapters, I really did, so hopefully you'll see an increase in quality this week.) I'll...get around to answering reviews soon; sorry about that ＞＜;;

This chapter, all my previous chapters and all the chapters until the end of the story are dedicated to my late grandfather, for being so unbelievably kind to me for all his years. *bow*

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* * *

Immiscibility  
**_by . NyghthawK ._

**Chapter Ten: Hell Week**

Harry bit down the urge to curse as he left Umbridge's room for the last time that week, having suffered five days in a row of writing lines. And he could only wish for them to be ordinary lines, having experienced the flesh-cutting quill five nights too many.

The words 'I must listen when told' were sure to permanently scar, despite Ron and Hermione's best efforts to reduce the amount of pain he had to endure.

Hah, he scoffed, Defence Against the Dark Arts was nothing but a joke. What had once been one of the most respected subjects in the school had now deteriorated into a scam controlled by Voldemort's Ministry to ensure that the little kiddies at Hogwarts who would behave, now that Dumbledore had been taken care of.

Harry couldn't help himself; he punched the wall to relieve his frustration. Thinking about Dumbledore always reminded him of his helplessness when he ran up to the Astronomy Tower only a few months ago, watching the old Headmaster's lifeless body fall to the ground. It had been Snape all along, the treacherous bastard. Harry wasn't surprised when the man ran off with Malfoy after sending the Dark Mark into the sky, a terrifying omen that would be etched into the minds of all the people who had been present to see their Light's death.

And Umbridge...Umbridge was sent to ensure they weren't practicing anything that shouldn't have been practiced. Anything that would've put Voldemort at risk of the hold he had over the people and the population. It would've been laughably easy for him to use the Ministry's power to force McGonagall into hiring her as the Defence teacher, and far too easy for _her_ to teach nothing but first-grade theory. Umbridge was probably reporting directly to the new Minister and then he to Voldemort anyway; she had shown how ruthless and cold-hearted she was during the trial for underaged magic last year.

A thought struck Harry's mind. Maybe that was why McGonagall hired Elric as well, the enigma. Other than helping him find a place to stay, she probably needed a way for students to still learn combative magics – he'd noticed that she and quite a few of the other teachers had surreptitiously changed their curriculums to be more about offensive and defensive manoeuvres, whilst still mysteriously staying within the Ministry-approved guidelines. There really couldn't have been any other reason for her to jump so quickly into human transfiguration, after all.

Harry scowled. At the rate his skills faired now, he doubted he could have even aided Dumbledore up on the Tower at all that night. If only he'd dragged himself across sooner, if only he'd warned the man about the uncomfortable feeling from his intuition; maybe he could have saved him then.

He shook his head to himself, resting his forehead against the cool brick walls. There was no point in dwelling over what ifs; he had to work on moving forward and changing what he still could.

...that reminded him. What was it that Elric—_Professor_ Elric had unexpectedly told him whilst he was at Grimmauld?

"_Don't concern yourself with saving the world. Make your own decisions, and don't follow in the footsteps others have created._

_You should enjoy your childhood while it still lasts."_

Was Professor Elric saying that his fight against Voldemort was just a joke? A joke that could have been stopped any time he wanted, and a joke that meant that Cedric wouldn't have sacrificed himself at the Graveyard and died? How could anything that happened to him be a joke?

Harry hadn't had a proper chance to think about the man's words until then, merely swept up in the daily on-goings in Grimmauld, buried within the deep discussion of the Order's meetings and caught up with his unofficial extended family in the form of the Weasleys and Hermione Granger. But now he remembered how Elric had seemed to be avoiding his eye contact even though they stared eye to eye, and recalled the slight tensing of the other man's hands.

Somehow, he knew that Elric wasn't just quoting some random philosophical-sounding garbage he'd spontaneously thought of or prepared beforehand. The look in his eyes and the almost tired slouch practically screamed that he was more than authorised to say words like those, probably being involved first-hand in those types of situations.

Harry stiffened when he felt some blood trickle down his hand, the words still bleeding without his notice. No – it was no good for him to stay down there and angst against the wall, he needed to return to the dormitories despite how tired and utterly spent he felt, where a worried Ron and an anxious Hermione were probably waiting with a bowl of Murtlap Essence just for him.

Besides, it would be Saturday tomorrow and the weekend, so he could think more later. Saturday, the date of their first Alchemy lesson. He could watch Elric then.

* * *

For his first lesson, Edward had miraculously been able to find himself a classroom on the sixth floor that was quite bland, devoid of any and all 'magical' objects around. It was a classroom that he'd grudgingly gotten approved with the headmistress and permanently assigned to for the rest of his lessons until he became dissatisfied or it was no longer serving the purpose it needed to serve, in which he would just find another one.

The room wasn't too shabby, either. An absence of 'magical' objects left the room devoid of distractions, and he'd added another chalkboard kidnapped from another room to the one already existing at the front; one of them would permanently be for the basic rules and laws of alchemy, and the other for his teaching.

And that was something he wasn't exactly looking forward to. Due to various, longwinded regulations he wasn't to teach them by inflicting bodily harm in any way, which meant Izumi's proven teaching method was out of the question. But not being able to train the body and then the mind by extension would make it slightly more difficult for him.

He opted for a more rigorous mental approach instead – the regulations only said that bodily harm and anything that would cause severe injury was not allowed, and in his boredom he'd read it so much that he could probably recite every loop and dot. It didn't say anything about nearly breaking their minds to the point of exhaustion, never actually moving but forcing them to concentrate so much that running a kilometre would've been far more pleasant.

Honestly, Ed had been pleasantly surprised when he'd received the sign-up sheets back at the number of people attending. He'd split them up into two classes, a class of sixth-years in the morning and seventh-years in the afternoon even though he would teach them all the same.

Only a few students had filed in when he glanced at the clock, and he wasn't surprised that it only said it was two past.

(Perhaps they'd gotten lost – his classroom _was_ somewhere absurdly far from the stairs. Strategically so, out of childish rebellion, because he made sure to block off the closest staircase, knowing the other was stationed on the opposite side of the building.)

Soon though, eventually they'd all appeared, incessantly chattering and essentially taking forever to get to their seats. Ed waited for only a moment longer before hopping off the desk and slammed the door closed louder than necessary. Several jumped, and he mentally struck marks against them, noting their significantly weaker state of mind.

"Sit," he commanded, and his tone surprised himself. "'_Quills'_ out, you'll be taking notes."

The students all hurried to place their things down and get everything they needed, and a flash of red hair alerted him to Harry Potter and his friends' presence.

Ah well, it was fine with him – he'd treat those so-called celebrities the same way as everyone else _and _keep his lessons interesting enough, anyway.

"Remember, this is a probationary period. Despite three of you having all three of the sufficient _owls_ for this course, I don't give a damn."

There was a bit of hissing at his swear, and those students got mental strikes as well. He slapped the pointer he transmuted for himself against the edge of a blackboard and mentally smiled again at some of their reactions. Some students were already at three strikes.

"Alchemy isn't something that can be toyed with. In this course, each and _every_ one of you will be treated the same. I am not lenient. I do not play favourites. If you wish, you may leave at any time, but if you do not turn up for one lesson without another teacher's word I will assume you have quit and will no longer accept you in this class. Is this clear?"

A few hesitant nods. Ed sighed; he'd never thought it would be easy. Reaching behind him and flipping the blackboard over, he showed them his list of three pre-written rules of alchemy.

He slapped the pointer against the first and hummed when no one jumped. Good, they were getting used to it. "Alchemy's first law: Equivalent Exchange. Can anyone tell me what this is?"

Under his deathly glare, no hands were brave enough to rise. He'd expected that, but he didn't like it – it wasn't fun talking to yourself when there were about forty other people in the room, after all.

"In order to obtain or create something, something of equal value must be lost or destroyed. _That is the Law of Equivalent Exchange._ By the end of this month I expect you to etch that sentence deep enough into your minds that you can repeat it word for word even if I put you in a straightjacket, tied you upside down to the bow of a ship and left you there for two hours over the open ocean."

He glanced around to see the large majority of the students either gaping cluelessly at his words or looking at him in shock.

Ed's eyes narrowed – Equivalent Exchange wasn't anything to joke with. "_Well?_ Why aren't you copying any of this down?"

An unbelievably quick and synchronized flurry of feather and papers later and he had a class successfully scrawling down notes as fast as they could. However, one of the students had his hand in the air.

"Name and house?" Ed asked.

"Zabini. Blaise Zabini, from Slytherin."

The dark-haired kid gave him such a condescending smirk that he was reminded of Mustang, and he barely suppressed a growl. Not realizing the reaction he'd caused, Zabini contined on.

"Why do we have to follow this _Equivalent Exchange_ nonsense? Hah, this is probably why Alchemy died out a long time ago and left magic to reign supreme." He kicked the underside of his desk, a sly smirk on his face. "This is pathetic."

Ed closed his eyes, almost wishing he could take back the words he'd said earlier about treating them all the same. Almost. But with all the lashing out he'd done in all his years, he liked to think he was skilled enough to avoid too bad of a confrontation – it was just that bastard Mustang's fault for being so damn...provoking to his _not_ vertically challenged-ness.

"Magic." He said simply, finding an easier target to vent his frustrations at. "Do you know? I _hate_ it. Magic is something that doesn't exist, and I hate how you do nothing but accept the freaking brainwashing they're doing out there."

Zabini laughed and placed his feet on the desk before lying back. "What are you saying? Of course magic exists; you're in a magic _school_, for Merlin's sake! How do you explain everything that's going on, anyway? Pheh, with the way you're acting I'd say you were a mudblood."

Ohohoho, the guy was _really_ trying to incite him now. But no! He wouldn't fall for it, he was the Fullmetal Alchemist!

Easily slipping on the Fullmetal Alchemist's trademarked personality, Ed easily found himself a response. "Mudblood, schmudbud. If all you can do is call me names, then you've got nothin' for ya! And besides," he allowed his fourteen-year-old recklessness emerge again and he gave the kid his own goading smirk, as if challenging his pride. "I never said I had an explanation, did I? There's _some_ form of energy there, but it's still pathetic against the abilities of alchemy. You know, I bet my little brother could defeat you in a duel anyday!"

Seeing the fire in Zabini's eyes, Ed allowed himself a grin that only infuriated the student further. Hook, line and sinker.

"How dare you—" Zabini growled, leaping up and reaching behind him. He thrusted his wand. "_Confringo!_"

Ed jumped down and used one of the many circles drawn on the inside of his sleeve to instantaneously transmute a wall from the stone, defending himself from the blasting curse – he hadn't realized how fast pre-made circles were compared to actually clapping his hands. Having learnt from the incident in the hospital that spells tended to reflect, he extended the wall into a dome and sealed the spell away within it.

"Twenty points from Slytherin for attacking a teacher."

"What—"

"Continue to disrupt the class and it'll become thirty. Don't forget, I'm still a teacher and I have all the privileges of a teacher. Be thankful that you're not staying for detention."

Zabini grumbled and sat back down, stubbornly crossing his arms.

"Right, then," Ed smiled. Inwardly, he cackled with delight, jumping around. Oh, he _did_ know how to make teaching fun. "Let's move on then, shall we?"


	11. Chapter 11: Alchemy

**A/N:** I'm still kind of out of things. Kind of. Thanks to everyone for your support – for once I'm completely out of things to say, so let's just get on with the story :)

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* * *

Immiscibility  
**_by . NyghthawK ._

**Chapter Eleven: Alchemy**

Whatever Elric was, he wasn't a normal professor. And who would be with clothes like those and an attitude that liked to rear its ugly head at the worst of times?

Elric slammed his pointer onto the first point on the blackboard again, and it took all the self-control in Harry's being to not jump at the loud noise. "The first rule of Alchemy is to _always_ abide by Equivalent Exchange. I don't care if you're at risk of drowning in a huge pit of jelly slugs, _you will always obey Equivalent Exchange_."

Marking a little dot point to the side of his notes about jelly slugs and wondering about the professor's strange descriptions, he almost jumped again when Elric turned the pointer against his desk.

"You!" he called, and Harry almost slumped down with relief when the person next to him was the one being addressed, until he remembered that _Ron_ was the poor soul in the seat beside his. "What is the Law of Equivalent Exchange?"

"Uhh." Ron said eloquently, staring at his notes almost as if he couldn't read them. "You have to give something to get something?"

A considering look flashed across Elric's face before it disappeared and he shook his head. "Not specific enough. Can anyone tell me the Law of Equivalent Exchange?"

Hermione raised her hand, as well as Terry Boot and surprisingly Pansy Parkinson. Elric glanced over the three for a bit before jabbing the pointer roughly in Pansy's direction. "Shoot."

"The Law of Equivalent Exchange states that in order to create something, something of equal value must be lost or destroyed," she recited verbatim, and Harry knew he wasn't imagining the impressed look on Elric's face.

"_Perfect_, but we'll be going through details later. Name and House?"

"Pansy Parkinson from Slytherin, sir."

Elric grinned and looked pointedly in Zabini's direction. "It looks like there _are_ some good Slytherins amongst you brats after all. Twenty points to Slytherin – you should really thank her, Zabini. She just earnt your points back again."

As quickly as the subject had been changed and Harry had barely gotten the time to scrawl and improve his definition, Elric slammed the pointer onto the blackboard again, this time to the second point. "We'll be going through the details of Equivalent Exchange later. The second rule of Alchemy is not to perform transmutations on humans or on animals. These two terms are known as human transmutation and animal transmutation, respectively—"

He paused and looked to Hermione's raised hand. "Yes?"

"What's this 'transmutation', sir?"

"Ah. That's right, I never told you. 'Transmutation' is the term used to refer to the entire process of performing alchemy, but I'll get to that next time. By the way, I want every word I say on these three rules to be recorded and embedded into memory, am I clear?"

Harry nodded, thankful he'd taken the notes where he should have but the cramp in his hand didn't necessarily agree. A few classmates were still scribbling like crazy, obviously trying to catch up. In the corner, Zabini didn't seem to bother taking notes at all – by the looks of things, he'd nominated himself as the new Slytherin kingpin.

He was so busy looking that he didn't notice Elric continuing until his voice started again. Fumbling with his quill, he almost dropped it onto the floor.

"Animal transmutation is combining two or more animals together to create what is known as a chimera. These chimeras are completely different from your whacked magical ones, as they are actually a perfect fusion of the creatures since the various DNAs are spliced and merged into one. This is forbidden due to how unethical the procedure is and because of the amount of pain the animals suffer during the process. Got that? Too late."

Ruthlessly ignoring those still trying to keep up with the speed of his talking, Elric tapped the board again to announce the change in subject.

"Human transmutation is actually a term referring to any transmutation involving the human body. There are doctoring alchemists and some alchemists that literally use themselves as weapons, and those are not forbidden. The term 'human transmutation', however, is often used to refer to bringing the dead back to life. _Put your pens—quills down._"

Everyone obliged without thinking even if they were in the middle of a sentence, the tone of Elric's voice so deadly that it was as if they were in danger just by leaving an ink splotch.

"There is a good reason why human transmutation is forbidden," he said. "It's _impossible_. The dead stay dead, and they cannot return. Anyone even _thinking_ about attempting human transmutation in this class will be punished. This is _not_ a joking matter. The rebound from having insufficient Equivalency can take your life and cause massive destruction to everything around you."

He suddenly changed the subject by slamming the pointer onto the last rule, leaving everyone reaching for their quills and dropping things to the floor in haste.

"The final rule of Alchemy is not to transmute things into gold. No, I'm not answering any questions about this, I'm just telling you this at face value. This rule is actually here for your own good rather than mine, because if the more gold there is in the world the less it's going to be worth, so your economy suffers. I really couldn't care less. Any questions? No? Good. Moving on."

Briefly, Harry wondered if Elric even knew he asked for any questions so quickly and unexpectedly that everyone busy note-taking missed it. (He probably did.)

Elric walked to the chalkboard on the other side and pulled it to the centre of the room. He knocked against it to get everyone's attention before taking a stick of chalk from the box on his desk and spinning it between his fingers.

"To perform alchemy you will need what is known as a Transmutation Circle," he said, flipping the chalk into the air. For the next few eerily quiet seconds, Harry tried to not watch the chalk but the Professor's face instead, but the longer the entranced silence stretched on he found the piercing golden orbs harder and harder to look towards.

He barely managed to hold out, though, and couldn't help his relief when Elric did eventually stop. The blonde just continued whatever he wanted to do as if the break had never occurred, drawing a perfect circle with two interlocking squares in it on the board in a smooth and practised action.

"That is a transmutation circle. It's actually the most basic transmutation circle, and you'll need to learn how to draw one if you want to do any alchemy."

The sudden grin that appeared on Elric's face gave Harry a sense of foreboding, as it was identical to the one he had given Zabini earlier on. From the shifting he could hear in some of the other seats, he knew that they had noticed as well.

Their fears were answered without much further pause.

"For the rest of the lesson, you will be practicing how to draw a perfect circle without any aid," he smirked. "If you succeed and can draw five of them in a row that I approve, you'll move onto squares. Anyone who manages to draw the transmutation circle on the board by the end of the lesson will be rewarded generously."

Harry stared. Professor Elric couldn't have possibly asked them to do what he thought he'd asked...right?

Elric's shark-toothed grin just widened at the stares. "Well? Go on, now. You'll find a blackboard and some chalk by lifting the lid of your desks – I got these custom-made."

Hearing the telltale scratching of chalk, Harry looked around to see Hermione already drawing and everyone else slowly taking all their stuff off their desks to access the blackboard underneath. He quickly straightened his notes – his hand would _never_ be the same again – and put them in his bag, his quill and ink being packed away as well.

He cautiously lifted the lid, and sure enough his own blackboard was there. As he took a stick of chalk, he stared. A circle, huh? He'd had to use compasses whilst he was at his muggle school, and even then his circles turned out wonky and really, really bad.

...And Professor Elric expected him to do it freehand.

Harry drew his first circle, but he didn't need to inspect it to see how bad it was. Frankly, it looked like an egg. Making a note to draw them wider, it was with no surprise to him that the one he drew afterwards was like a pumpkin with a dent for where his hand slipped.

"This is impossible!" Ron complained to him. Nodding in agreement, Harry looked across to see about ten attempts already, each one getting worse.

He jumped away when he saw a projectile move in the corner of his eye and almost groaned. At some point, Professor Elric had moved to his chair and put his feet up on the desk, a box of elastic bands next to him.

"No talking will be permitted for this exercise, and there will be no looking at other peoples' work," Elric drawled. "Think of it as test conditions, just without the test. Anyone confident of their ability can take out the smaller, portable board under their desk and draw it in front of me."

"Blimey, he's really something, isn't he?" Ron whispered and Harry was about to nod.

"When I said no talking, I meant silence so quiet that the only thing I should hear are these pieces of rubber and my own breathing."

As if to prove a point, he fired an elastic band to the side of the room where a target had been painted. Elric made a face when it hit the outside edge, reloading and trying again. Soon, the only sounds in the room were the chorus of chalk being used and the occasional sound of elastic hitting the wall.

None of them could get a perfect circle drawn five times in a row at the end of the lesson, let alone move on to the transmutation circle.

* * *

Ed sighed, slumping down onto the desk. The class was pathetic – only less than half of them showed any potential for having the strong mind an alchemist needed, but even so they all broke more than easily.

Throw anyone untrained into a room of forced silence, give them a task that they were insufficient at and have them do it over and over again and frustration would overtake them. Added to that, they were beside people they knew but were not able to turn around and look or even talk to them. Pure terror for the lazy energy-casters who rarely got up physically for _anything_.

Even so, he'd have to train all of them and teach them the fundamentals of alchemy; it was part of his contract after all. He could only hope that he was able to encourage them to quit whilst they were ahead, and if he were lucky he'd only end up with the students who had the most potential.

He looked up at a knock on the door, seeing the Umbridge woman standing in the way. "Oh, it's just you. What do you want?"

Umbridge simpered. "Mister Elric, I would suggest not talking to me in that tone. _Hem, hem._ As a representative of the Ministry of Magic, I have the right to inspect all classes and make sure that they are perfectly _safe_ for the students."

Ed followed her gaze to the target on the wall and all the rubber bands scattered on the floor.

"I hear you have been using – or, at least threatening the students with violence," she finished, raising an eyebrow.

"What violence would this be?"

She shrugged in what was probably supposed to be in a nonchalant way, but it looked annoyingly fake and overexaggerated. "I have received a complaint about your..._sadistic_ tendencies." Her frown deepened when he ignored the bait. "Have you been threatening them with those elastic bands or not?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he lied. Oh but he _did_, and it was one of the many loopholes he'd found within the teaching guidelines. "Target practice with elastic bands is my hobby, and one I use regularly outside in competitions and the like." Yeah, that one time against Breda and Havoc down at HQ, and the other against the Ling dude in Xing. "I was merely perfecting my aim against the wall, as you can see."

"As much as that is understandable, I would suggest you not to perform that sort of activity during classes. It would set a bad example as a teacher."

Ed glanced away and shrugged, completely uncaring. "Did you have anything else to say?"

"Did you provoke a student into taking unreasonable action?"

Ah, so that was her main point of visit. Unfortunately for her, it was also the easiest to deny. "Provoke? I wouldn't dream of provoking _anyone_. Blaise Zabini acted upon his own accord and he chose to attack a teacher. I don't have anything to do with it."

Blatant lie, and he knew she knew it. She couldn't stop him though, not without any proof of ill intent and _that_ was going to be impossible for her to get.

Umbridge seemed to know this and made an action that reminded him of a chicken fluffing themselves up to look bigger and more intimidating. "Very well. I would, however, suggest you not to go about doing these things in future, as Hogwarts is a Ministry-funded school and therefore under the Ministry's jurisdiction."

"Is that a threat?"

She smiled – not a nice smile, but one that was more predatory than prey. "Oh no, of course not. Good day."

Ed watched her leave suspiciously, but turned to cleaning up the elastic that was all over the floor. There was no doubt she was planning something, but he couldn't think about it now – he had another class to teach in two hours, and had the feeling he would be getting _very_ good at target practice by the end of the day.


	12. Chapter 12: Number Twenty Three

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews and support, everyone! And again, this story is set in an **alternate timeline** for both FMA and HP. Just so you don't forget :)

Umm...sorry if I ended up sending anyone more than one reply. I can't keep track, since I use the PM system of replying (which means that I can't reply if you've blocked PMs).

**

* * *

Immiscibility**  
_by . NyghthawK ._

**Chapter Twelve: Educational Decree Number Twenty-Three**

Harry was unfortunate enough to be within the vicinity of an irritated Edward Elric the next morning, as he headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast after handing in his Potions work. He hadn't noticed the blonde at first despite the obnoxious red coat and telltale hairstyle, but soon found himself in the vicinity of the obvious killing aura excluded from the thin frame.

He turned around to see why the guy was so furious, and found the professor glaring a hole through something in the wall. Harry shifted closer for a better look.

_Educational Decree Number Twenty-Three_

_All staff members will not be permitted to perform any form of activity during a lesson that does not pertain to the contents of the lesson during the period of time in which the lesson is taught._

_Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, Overseer for the Ministry of Magic  
Approved by Pius Thicknesse, Minister for Magic_

Elric growled, muttering a string of profanities under his breath and something that sounded suspiciously like he was responsible for the creation of this Educational Decree. Snarling a few times, he punched the wall and it gave a little shudder.

That was when Harry chose to run – he _really_ didn't want to think what the professor could do to him if even the magically-reinforced walls of Hogwarts couldn't handle his strength.

"Oh...Potter, was it?"

Harry froze, turning around excruciatingly slowly. Professor Elric stood there looking as if he'd just been out on a leisurely stroll. "Yes?"

"How's your homework going?"

"Uh...good?" Not really – he could only draw a perfect circle about one in every twelve.

Professor Elric smiled. "That's good to know. You've got until next week to get the transmutation circle practiced if you still want that prize."

He moved away almost too cheerfully, the only remaining indication of his annoyance in how tense his hands were held. Staring at his back for a few moments, Harry shook his head once he remembered his friends waiting for him and walked the rest of the way to the Great Hall.

Ron greeted him by taking a plate of hash browns, forking one for himself and pushing the rest in his best friend's direction. "Z'heyra good."

Taking it without thinking, he sat down just when Hermione started berating Ron for his manners. After Harry pushed some of the hash browns onto his own plate without thinking, returned the rest to their normal place and then reached for some toast, she turned to him. "How was Slughorn?"

"He was alright. But he did seem disappointed that his star student was starting to lose his skills." Harry replied.

"The Half-Blood Prince thing's behind us, then?" Hermione asked. "You've started trying to do things on your own?"

"Ohw, shtuff a sochk in it, 'ermyonie," Ron complained, chewing for a little more and then swallowing. "Harry's learnt his lesson, so can we move onto brighter things? I mean, no one could have guessed that Snape would be the one to kill Dumbledore anyway..."

He trailed off, leaving the three of them in relative silence for a few moments as they attempted to think of something to say. Hermione brightened though, reaching into her bag and pulling out a small blackboard, one of the many from the alchemy classroom.

"Watch this."

She pressed the chalk to the board, concentrating as she drew the circle and the square within it to create the basic transmutation circle.

Ron stared at her. "How'd you do _that_?"

"Practice, Ronald. Lots and lots of practice. And," she beamed, "I showed it to Professor Elric last night and he said I could have the reward!"

"What's the reward?" Harry asked.

"He's agreed to give me a special half-hour lesson on any topic I want, except for the forbidden arts of rules two and three!"

"That's really...generous of him." And it was, considering how impatient the professor always seemed to be. Despite it only being half an hour, if yesterday had been any example then Elric had a fast and ruthless teaching style. Half an hour was plenty of time for him.

"It is, isn't it? Oh, there are _so _many things I want to know about alchemy like how the Sorceror's Stone ties into everything – it's such a dead art, yet we've got such a skilled practitioner here to teach it at the school!" Somehow sensing that both Ron and Harry had tuned her out in favour for their breakfasts, she stopped and packed up her supplies. "I'll see if he can make some time now, and I suggest you two use the half hour after eating to return to the common room and practice your circles instead on playing Quidditch."

"Buht iht's such a ghud dahy outshide!" Ron complained.

Hermione's glare silenced him. "Swallow. It's only thirty minutes, Ronald. You've still got the rest of the day to do your homework and _then_ play Quidditch."

Giving up, Ron groaned and turned to his food again. When she turned to Harry, he quickly nodded to show his agreement to avoid encountering her wrath. That expression on her face was the one where she would even take their brooms and hide them somewhere for the rest of the week just to make them comply.

Ron turned to Harry when she left, a resigned look on his face. "Sometimes, I swear she just wants to deprive us of the good stuff."

"It's for our own good though, right?" Harry answered and knew he was trying to convince himself.

"Yeah."

"Wait, did she say she was going to go _now_?"

"...Yeah."

Harry blanched. "_Now_ might not be the best time to see him."

* * *

Immaturely, Ed kicked the wall of his room with his automail leg. That Umbridge! He had no doubt as to why the new 'Educational Decree' had been put up and approved; it was to prevent him from teaching the way he was teaching.

Umbridge had obviously picked him as her target at some point, probably due to his blatant hatred of the 'magical arts'. And she was purposefully doing it to infuriate him!

The traitorous part of him said it was probably his fault anyway, but he shut it up; he was pissed at the _intent_, not the actual decree or anything. He had free will to decide what he wanted, didn't he?

Ed growled. Normally when he got so annoyed, Al would be nearby to calm him down with a few words and a spar. But Al wasn't – it was his own bloody damn fault that he decided to investigate into the assassins' plans and then end up on this side of the Gate, where he'd have to wait at least a _year_ before he could go anywhere.

He hated himself. He hated this 'Hogwarts', and how ridiculously 'magical' it was – every time he walked around it the memories of all his rebounds would resurface, his stupid mistakes from before.

Transmuting himself a proper spear, he shrugged off his coat and his jacket, moving to the extended section of the room that had been cleaned out. With the polearm, he started the forms he'd learnt from Xing after another false lead on recovering Al's memories. Stupid Ling and his stupid, stuck-up attitude. At least the prince'd been good for _something_.

Rhythmically, he twirled and spun the spear and tried to let out as much anger as he could. He lacked the years of training the Xingese masters had regarding the forms but he made up for it in his strength, modifying them to his own style of fighting. Taking at least an hour each day at Hogwarts to practice and distract his mind, there was no doubting the increase in his abilities as he focused on efficiency rather than their perfection and skill.

Swallow's flight. River stream. Three element step dance. Lotus meeting sky.

Ed barely blinked as he completed the forty-eighth form, the tip of his spear almost meeting his door. The reason for his stopping was obvious – someone had knocked, requesting his presence.

They knocked again and Ed quickly put aside the spear, pulling his jacket and gloves on to hide his automail. He winced as the sweat clung to the leather and made a mental note to transmute himself one of those loose Xingese robe-like long sleeved shirts in the meantime.

"Coming, coming!"

He opened the door and found himself looking towards the Granger girl and raised an eyebrow. "Yes? Are you here for that lesson?"

She nodded, and then flushed in embarrassment as she took in his sweat-soaked appearance. Ed shrugged and opened the door wider to let her in, brushing aside the parts of his fringe that clung far too close for comfort.

"So, take a seat and—"

"I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you or anything," Granger apologised, but Ed brushed it off as he started his cool down routine.

"Don't worry, I can multitask." Well, he had wanted a distraction and _did_ need to get this lesson over and done with. They'd seemed like such good ideas at the time – rewarding people for putting actual effort into his class and giving more knowledge to the students who were actually interested in the art.

Alongside the Granger girl, the other Parkinson girl from Slytherin had also been to see him after completing the coursework as well, catching onto geometric shapes surprisingly quickly. She'd turned up the night before and started to ask questions about what DNA actually was, before they'd moved onto plants and their lack of as many different chromosomes – something more of the Tringham brothers' forte – and then onto carbon and what it was and its uses in general.

"A-alright," she said and he knew she was staring without having to look. "You said that alchemy could create gold, right?"

"Not create," he corrected. "Transmute. Alchemy changes one object into another so long as they share the same base components. And yes, but I'm not going to tell you how."

She nodded. "That's fine, I didn't want to know." She paused for a bit and pursed her lips consideringly, watching him walk across the empty section of his rooms and do some flips and cartwheels – although they weren't exactly cool down material at the end of an exercise, he needed to check his flexibility. Plus, they were fun.

"And?"

"Um, well...is there any way to create immortality using alchemy?"

Ed froze. No. She was _not_ asking anything about binding souls or homunculi. "Why do you need to know?"

"It's because...I was wondering about the relation of the Sorceror's Stone to alchemy!"

Stopping his exercises, Ed just watched her reactions and her body language carefully. She honestly seemed to be nervous, but in her eyes he saw the lust for knowledge and the determination to find out more.

"What's his 'Sorceror's Stone'?" He asked, wondering to himself why he gave her a second chance to redeem herself. It was so out of character for him, but her eyes reminded him so much of the innocent Sheska as she asked things that just couldn't be answered.

She jumped at the permission to speak. "The Sorcerer's Stone is a mystical object which can turn lead into gold, and create the life-extending Elixir of Life. I'm wondering how it's related to alchemy, because you say that alchemy can already turn metals into gold so the Stone becomes useless."

"Sounds like a whole load of crap," Ed commented, relieved. "It's probably some 'magic'-based inferior version of alchemy."

"I see. And also, uhm, would it be possible to amplify a person's knowledge of alchemy so much that anything became attainable?"

"No. Alchemy is a skill that is learnt and honed to perfection. There is no way to suddenly learn everything at once—"

Ed broke off, stopping himself against a nearby chair. The Gate. Each time he saw it, it showed him the Truth. He couldn't help it this time – his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do you have a reason for asking this as well?"

Granger shifted before reaching into her bag and pulling out a book with shaking fingers, flipping to a bookmarked page. "_The Sorceror's Stone,_" she read, "_was believed to mystically amplify the user's knowledge of alchemy so much that anything was attainable. The Sorceror's Stone also goes by different names in different parts of the world – the 'Red Stone' in the East and the 'Philosopher's Stone' in the West._"

The Philosopher's Stone.

Everything stopped.

No—how could books even _suggest_ the creation of a Philosopher's Stone? How could this side of the Gate _know—_

Ed heard a snarl and realized seconds later that it belonged to him, and a cracking snap meant the back of the poor seat was disintegrating under his grip.

He pushed it to the side and practically forced his forehead onto his cooler automail arm in an effort to calm down, but found himself moments later resting against the wall with his head in the crook of his elbow and gritting his teeth so hard he could feel it under his eyes. It was strange, but a chip finally seemed to emerge in his wall of denials, spiderwebbing out and allowing the facts he didn't want to accept rushing over him. His pride was easily knocked down by the onslaught – it had no chance.

"A-are you alright?" The Granger girl asked, wrenching him back to the present.

And then he laughed at his own stupidity, laughed at how he skimmed over the most important part of her words. The book said that the 'Philosopher's Stone' was _just another term_ for the Sorceror's Stone, a 'wizard's attempts at replicating alchemy without actually using alchemy at all.

Just because their 'magic' wasn't following the laws on his side of the Gate, it didn't mean that such feats weren't impossible on the other side. It had only been because of his two years with Alfons that he assumed the two sides followed the same rules, only that one was unable to access alchemy, but the Wizarding society had been secret enough anyway that it would have been understandable.

Ed laughed even as the shakes slowly subsided. He was going insane or something, he knew it – cooped up in such an unnatural place for so long without anyone he _knew_ to talk to, added onto how he was separated from his brother for one and a half years before as well, insisting on leaving him behind with Izumi for training whilst he went out to get the memories back alone...

If—no, _when_ he got back, he would make sure to give Al an impossibly large hug before the two of them would explore off somewhere far, far away and get stuck in the worst possible situations. Just like old times, even if his little brother couldn't remember.

But first, he had to get his research on the whole energy this world used done and completed before he tried to open a Gate with Dante's Circle. If his alchemy now worked by using it as fuel, then the variables of _its_ strange Equivalency needed to be dealt with.

With that little resolution set in his mind, he looked up to Granger and smiled weakly, his first true smile since his arrival.

"I...I'm okay. Or I am now. Come on, let's get this done and over with."

**

* * *

A/N: **I admit it; the second section was rushed. But all the little things that've been happening now are just little hiccups that happen but I don't want to focus on since other people have already – I'm preparing for the turnabout in about three chapters' time. Delaying it any further would be boring and horrible. But I hope this chapter at least made sense, haha. I'm hoping I can get the next chapter up on schedule as well.

And yay, more Brotherhood/manga references! (I actually like it more, that's why ^^)

**Next chapter:** As Time Passes By


	13. Chapter 13: As Time Passes By

**A/N:** Thank you for all the support! I can't believe it; 130 reviews? Thank youuuu~! (And a huuuge apology for those people who had to read my terrible phrasing last chapter before I fixed it – thanks so much, Pajaro Negro!)

* * *

**Immiscibility  
**_by . NyghthawK ._

**Chapter Thirteen: As Time Passes By**

It was incredible how quickly a month could come and go, and how much a person's life could change.

Ed couldn't believe it was only three weeks since his first class, and already the number had more than halved upon the students' free will and choosing. Left with two half-classes he joined them together since he taught the same thing to both, creating a final class of eighteen.

(And because they had chosen and made the decision themselves to work hard and study alchemy, how could Ed actually have to pick and take out those who supposedly weren't good enough for his class? The whole probationary period had been a joke for him, since the students were going to leave anyway – he only wanted those with enough determination and those with a mind strong enough to learn, not weak sissies who just wanted to learn random parlour tricks.)

He looked up when the chime sounded to announce the start of lunch and snapped his fingers, getting the attention of the students still hard at work. "Alright, time's up. Pass all of your papers to the front – Miss Parkinson, would you mind collecting them and bringing them up to me?"

The students obliged, handing the test back in a surprisingly orderly fashion. Parkinson straightened and then handed the final stack to him with a shy smile, one that he returned with his own. She was easily one of the best and most enthusiastic students, only topped in marks by the Granger girl and that Carmichael from the seventh year.

He got up to face the class and they all straightened themselves in anticipation, knowing the lesson was finally over.

"Right. What's the Law of Equivalent Exchange?"

"'In order to create something, something of equal value must be lost or destroyed,'" the class recited, verbatim.

"Great. Before you go, I'd like to mention that next week's lesson is cancelled and will be made up on another date due to some personal reasons I'd rather not disclose. And because you all did so well at changing the state of water, try making ice sculptures by removing the energy and reshaping it at the same time for homework – I expect you all to be able to do this by our next lesson. If you can, we'll be moving onto creating things from carbon. Dismissed."

Ed sat back down, watching the class file out and talk amongst themselves about the answers they'd chosen in the test, some of them visibly freaking out and others looking as if it had been the easiest thing in the world. He didn't doubt their abilities and knew that some of the papers would at least be satisfactory.

He sighed.

What a big difference changing his attitude made. A month ago he'd still been snappish at every single magical thing that dared to cross his way, but since he'd made the resolution to _definitely_ get back at any cost, 'magic' was no longer something blatantly unnatural. It _did_ follow some laws, twisted as they were, and it did happen to be a completely legit form of energy the same way that alchemy was. So instead of glaring, he poked and prodded and attempted to figure it out.

He still hadn't figured out the Equivalency the 'magic' used, but spending his spare time in the library certainly taught him many new things. Even if some were less pleasing than others to his scientific mind. (Love potions? Honestly?)

The students had undoubtedly noticed his change, and they'd opened up to an extent. It was no longer, 'oh, it's Professor Elric; I hope he doesn't bite my head off this time', it now consisted of curious glances at him in corridors and generally adopting him as a part of the school community as boarding schools did.

Ed hadn't missed the expressions of his students when he announced the cancellation of the next lesson, but those expressions would have to stay. As much as he'd tried to open up at least for Al's sake, he wasn't about to go around and announce to the world every single detail of his life.

Especially not what the third of October meant to him.

He instinctively reached into his pocket to take out his watch but was met with thin air. That was right – the Fullmetal Alchemist was no longer a State Alchemist, and therefore had no right to the roaring lion that was Central's seal.

It was strange. When he handed his watch in, he'd thought that the third of October would no longer be so significant to him, because he'd moved on and achieved his goal of returning Al to his body. But he felt cheated. Honestly, a small part of him felt cheated. Al was in the body of his twelve-year-old self, and the Gate had taken his memories. His father said that it was perhaps the bond of the two the Gate took as payment, but wasn't their close bond enough?

He told the Gate he would give _himself_ up too but still made it back, didn't he?

It hadn't listened, and played its cruel irony again. Maybe, just maybe, he was subconsciously trying to sacrifice the bond they could have had and forced Al to stay where it was safe so the Gate would restore his memories.

Whatever it was, he'd burnt their only home and they couldn't go back. They could only keep moving forward.

* * *

In all of the next week, Harry didn't see Professor Elric again at all.

The man had slowly gotten used to going to the Great Hall for food rather than eating somewhere else, but the conspicuous absence of blond hair and a shocking red coat at the Head Table made him feel uneasy. Elric probably didn't realize it, but he had such a unique, stunning charisma that demanded so much attention onto himself and him only, something Harry had gotten used to over time. Him being missing felt like a rip had been torn out of the sky.

Harry didn't realize he had also gotten so used to having class every Saturday morning either until he returned from breakfast and found himself in the common room, everyone else still asleep and dead to the world. So instead, he and Ron just went to the Study Hall to complete their leftover Charms work whilst Hermione had left with her ice sculpture, going off to show the professor.

A flurry of robes nearby signified Hermione's return and she placed her bowl onto the desk aside them. The icy tree inside it glistened, still preserved into shape by the Ice-Freezing charm wizards apparently used for their refrigerators – electricity didn't work, after all.

"So, what did he say?" Ron asked.

Hermione flopped down onto the empty seat. "Nothing. He wasn't there. You know he always opens the door if you knock so long as he's in."

"You checked the library though, right?" Harry said and scribbled out a wrong paragraph. "He's usually there when he's not in his room."

"He wasn't, but Madam Pince kept glaring at the sculpture as if I was lying about putting the Ice-Freezing charm on it and was going to destroy the books. Professor Elric's probably gone."

"That's Pince for you." Ron looked up in the middle of a sentence. "Wait, you said Elric was _gone_? Maybe Umbridge finally got him out."

"Probably not." Harry commented. Probably the only one person Umbridge hated more than himself was Professor Elric, several Educational Decrees made just to stop his behaviour in the school. Hermione'd done some research and it turned out that Elric was too smart for the toad, his teaching methods always skirting around the edge of regulation. "He wouldn't let himself get caught. It's probably related to class being cancelled this week."

Hermione nodded. "Yeah, that's strange. We don't have many classes at all in the first place, but for him to cancel seems rather...extreme."

"Who knows," Ron sighed, throwing up his hands in resignation. "I give up; the Theory and Usage on Imperturbable Charms aren't something I can concentrate on now. Elric's just unusual like that anyway. Have you noticed his mood swings?"

"Here," Hermione leant over and flipped two pages in Ron's textbook, ignoring his groan. "Write from that. I don't think his mood swings randomly came about, actually – they look more like symptoms of stress. I know he's cheered up recently, but..."

"He's trying too hard?" Harry offered. Since Hermione had returned from her first extra lesson and told them about the guy's strange breakdown, Elric had done a complete one-eighty in personality. He'd even spotted the guy attempting to have conversation with the ghosts instead of wincing and avoiding them. "He probably found a reason to during some point of your meeting."

Ron turned a teasing eye towards her. "Did you, _yunno_, say anything?"

Hermione hit him, face flushed.

"But seriously, 'mione, did you say anything?"

"I told you, I asked him about the Sorceror's Stone," she repeated. "And he laughed it off and said it was a joke until..."

She trailed off, the only sign of her being in deep thought from the flickering of her eyelids as she stared at the sculpture.

"What is it?" Harry prompted.

"If he reacted because I read the paragraph in _Advanced Potion-Making_ about the Stone's other names instead of the ability to increase a person's alchemical knowledge instead, then he might know something about it," Hermione said quickly.

Ron shrugged. "He laughed at how you said it could increase a person's lifespan and turn lead into gold though, didn't he?"

"Yes, but maybe what he knows is different. Maybe the other names are actually completely different things..."

For Harry, a few things clicked into place, almost as if he were building a jigsaw puzzle and finished building the edges. "You said he looked extremely cautious when he answered your questions, almost as if he didn't want you to answer them, right?"

"Yes, I told you."

"Then what if he didn't want to answer them because he didn't want you to _know_ about them? About how to create immortal life?"

"But he answered the one about gold even though he didn't specify, right?" Ron asked.

"That's because he _can't_, and he didn't want to show us. Magic only managed to transform lead into gold because of the Sorceror's Stone, so he was probably lying about alchemy being able to do so." Harry continued, eyes widening as his missing pieces appeared. "He could be from one of those different cultures who call it by a different name so he didn't recognise it when we were talking about it before! He could be trying to make the Stone!"

"No, that's not right," Hermione protested. "Professor Elric's reaction was too extreme for someone who doesn't want anyone to know, and besides! Just because you couldn't stop Dumbledore's death last year even though you had your suspicions doesn't mean that you can go accusing everyone of everything _now_!"

Harry shook his head and tried to ignore the painful pang that came with being useless. Last year the only reason why he knew about Dumbledore's looming death was from his dreams of Voldemort, dreams he failed to suppress.

"I'm sure of it this time. And you've seen how good Elric is at alchemy as well for a dead art and how young he is – there's no reason for him to come to Hogwarts where alchemy has no place. He probably only agreed to McGonagall's proposal because he wanted to see where the Sorceror's Stone was once kept, or he's so close he doesn't need to go anywhere anymore."

A few more materialized close enough for him to grasp, and he reached out for them.

"Or, he could even be in league with Voldemort! I'm finding it hard to believe he's 'only a muggle' – you heard what Moody said about the interrogation and how he was trained, right? Voldemort could have set him up to be near Vance beforehand so he could gain the Order's trust!"

"I guess that's suspicious..." Ron muttered.

He knew there were many holes in his theory, holes that required leaps of faith to cross. But having Ron agree with him significantly raised his spirits.

"See, Hermione?"

Her mouth tightened. "I keep telling you, I don't think that's what he's doing. If you're so concerned just go and tell McGonagall about this."

"McGonagall wouldn't do anything even if we told her," Harry insisted. "Besides, all I'm going to do is keep an eye on him; I won't do anything stupid."

Grudgingly, Hermione conceded. "_Oh_, all right then."

**

* * *

A/N:** I just want to mention - this is a really big thing that shouts out at me in most HP X-overs; it's not 'Harry and the sidekicks', it's 'the Golden Trio'. They're individual people, and they don't always agree on what he says :) (Also, _Advanced Potion Making_ is actually their sixth year potions book, and the bit about the Stone increasing alchemical knowledge is from the movie version. Remove the spaces: http:/ goo. gl/ SZURr)

Third of October was another thing I had to add, but I don't want to elaborate on since other people have done it already. If you're wondering, _Immiscibility_ is split into two parts and we're nearing the end of the first. Just a few more chapters to go and I'm hoping for weekly updates with the finale; I can't wait! ^^

**Next chapter: **Incompetence


	14. Chapter 14: Incompetence

**A/N: **Wow, 150? Thanks for the reviews, everyone! But, uh, I have to admit...I lost track of my replying. So if I haven't replied to you, I'm sorry, and if I've ended up giving you more than one reply, well...oh dear. (And horray for fourth weekly update in a row! :D)

On another note, it's nice to see people interested in Pansy and her role as one of the 'top students'. ^^

**

* * *

Immiscibility**  
_by . NyghthawK ._

**Chapter Fourteen: Incompetence**

"In your first lesson you mentioned 'doctoring alchemists', right? I was wondering if you could explain a bit more. Do they actually use alchemy on human bodies?"

Mentally, Ed sighed. Parkinson had been rewarded with yet another lesson with him, and this time he'd been hoping for something not to do with biology of any kind. But it seemed that she had a genuine interest in nature and its way of doing things, so he'd obliged and taught her the little theory he knew.

A small part of him danced to how ironic it was, that the Fullmetal Alchemist who went _against_ nature by trying to bring his mother back spent his time teaching the way _of_ nature to a young, curious student. Maybe he was trying to redeem himself by telling what he knew to a person who would succeed life differently to him, he didn't know.

(She actually wasn't that young. In all honesty, it was probably due to the fact that she was more than a head shorter than he was – he'd have been lying if he said he wasn't happy when he found out their wizards' average height was about seven and a half inches shorter than those of the people in Amestris. He was over an inch taller!)

"Yeah. I think they use transmutation circles to manipulate the elements the human body is made of – carbon and stuff."

"So it's a delicate art then, isn't it?"

Ed nodded. "That's true. I've only met a few doctoring alchemists on my travels, and they all have decades of experience I've yet to earn."

Parkinson shifted in her seat and idly tapped the pre-inked quill in her hand against her parchment, deep in thought.

"C-could you maybe show me the transmutation circle they'd use? I know you said you were someone who worked with metals rather than these kinds of things but..."

Biting his lip, Ed considered her question for a bit. Then he shrugged.

"I'll try, since I need a challenge anyway."

Leaning over the back of his chair, Ed grabbed a slip of paper and his pen before calculating some variables in his mind. He wasn't so good with cells but with his small stint in human biology he certainly knew about composition. If he made it around a carbon-manipulating base and added in some adjustment runes for the main phosphates and hydroxyls, it might just have worked.

He glanced over his finished circle and couldn't help but wince the way only a professional could. Adding a few details that should have theoretically improved stability, he tapped the pen against his chin before factoring a few more trace elements and then handing it across. She ogled at its complexity with a strange expression on her face, but Ed knew that if he weren't as experienced as he was the sample array would have ended up more cluttered than smooth.

"That circle's probably not what doctoring alchemists would use for treating patients, but it should work. I think." He gestured to the different elements, explaining as he went. "This is based on a more complex version of the carbon-altering transmutation circle we're going through in class, one that's better for finer details. Since flesh isn't all made of carbon, I just added additional parts so the other particles can also be changed with it."

She pursed her lips. "It sounds like you've done this before."

"Nah, I wouldn't dare mess with nature anymore. Those that do are either very good at their job or just idiotic."

"What makes you say that?"

"Just some past experiences." Ed dodged. "Even though I've drawn you that circle, remember that it's pure theory-based and I have no clue if it works or not. A proper circle'll either be more complex or simpler, but this design's just crude and there are probably a hundred variables I haven't factored in."

She nodded in understanding, hanging on to every word in a way that made him uncomfortable. He barely knew what he was talking about in the first place.

"Don't go around trying to use it, okay?"

Parkinson shrugged.

"I know, I'm not stupid."

Ed snickered and petted her head. "I know you aren't. Now I believe your half-hour's up, so you'd better get a move on to wherever you're going next."

Parkinson rolled her eyes. Batting his hand away from the black hair that looked like it took longer to style than should have been legal in mornings, she returned all her notes back into her bag and left the room.

A few moments later, a knock sounded at the door. Ed glanced over the room and then got up to answer it – no, Parkinson hadn't forgotten anything, so there was no need to return—

"No, you haven't forgotten anything," he absently shot outside. "There's no need to come back—"

"Professor?"

Ed looked properly and blinked a few times, seeing the Potter kid. "Well hey. This is new."

"Could I ask you something?" he asked, and Ed bit down the usual sarcasm that accompanied that sort of question. "Uh, inside?"

Shrugging, he opened the door further and let the kid inside before plonking back down onto the ground. Even though before winter wasn't exactly the best time, he'd finally gotten what he needed for those Xingesque robe-shirts he had been wanting to make for a while and he'd been working on transmuting them right before the Parkinson girl came in.

He gestured idly to the seat that quickly became his 'student chair' before clapping his hands and trying to restore one of his worse attempts. When he ended up making the fibres stick together as if they were melted, he just winced and pulled a face before trying all over again.

"Professor?"

"Hm?" Oh great, why did Xing seams have to be so difficult to replicate?

"I was wondering...can you _really_ make gold out of lead?"

Ed gave up trying to visualise the circle for something he hadn't tried creating before and drew one out on the floor instead. Those crafts-alchemists really had something going with how precise every strand was in their work.

"Yeah, of course. One of the things I specialise in are metals, didn't I tell you?" Ed answered, trying to figure out if he should make it complex or if he was capable of creating what he needed with the simple one. "Mind you, it is something I'm not allowing so I can't teach it. Don't ask."

"Can you at least _show_ me? Prove it or something?"

Turning around mid-line to face the 'wizard', he pulled a face. "I never really imagined _you_ of all people to be asking me that, 'Saviour of the Wizarding World'. Why so concerned?"

"No reason," he said just a little too quickly, and Ed frowned. Maybe he'd just sit it out and wait for the boy to answer under the pressure of the tension only not speaking for a long time could cause. So, he busied himself with his new shirts.

Hmm...he could practice dying clothes with alchemy, actually. He just needed some phosphorous and whatever else was part of his favourite colours that he could figure out in the meantime. But that begged the question: spots or stripes?

What was probably only two minutes later but something that felt to the kid as ten, Potter did speak.

"Please?"

Ed's actions didn't pause, but his brain did. So the Potter kid seemed really, really desperate for some reason and he wanted to know if creating gold was possible. Well of course it was possible, but he wasn't going to do it. No way in hell.

Unless...

If he did it and it turned out that Potter was stressed enough, there was the possibility of him blurting out why exactly he wanted to know. A tiny possibility, true, but...was he stressed enough?

Ed waited for exactly a minute more (a _long_ sixty seconds, uh huh) before absently reaching up onto his desk and grabbing for the pin he knew was there, having stabbed himself onto it many times before. Clapping his hands and then waiting for the glow to fade, he tossed the chunk of gold (melted of course, since pins were sharp) randomly toward Potter and turned back to his stripy mission – zebra, or rainbow?

He almost groaned when he heard the kid fumble the catch from something like three metres away. Yeah, that was right; 'wizards' weren't the most athletic people in the world.

"If you can make gold, why do you want the Sorceror's Stone?" Potter blurted, and Ed gave himself a little mental victory dance. Jackpot, he was a genius!...but he knew that already.

And then what the kid said caught up to his celebratory brain. Sorceror's Stone? Wasn't that the cheap substitute for alchemy that ran on the energy the 'wizards' used? And didn't it have those names...

...

The kid thought he wanted the Philosopher's Stone, or at least whatever their world's equivalent was?

Ed frowned. "So you think I want the Stone, do you?"

Under this sort of spotlight, the poor Potter kid looked like he wanted to nod and shake his head at the same time. "Uhh..."

It figured; the guy had never been subjected to mental pressure, or at least wasn't good with any matters dealing with it. All those exploits were probably from adrenaline highs.

"Didn't I tell you?" Ed asked. "Stop trying to do everything."

"What?"

"Exactly that. You have no tact, no skill, and I doubt you could even bluff your way out of a box. You're pathetic."

Potter's eyes narrowed sharply. "How can you say that when you don't even know what's happened around me? I've almost been _killed_—"

"That's it. Almost." He shrugged. "All these near-death experiences have made you into a suicidal martyr, you fool."

"_Voldemort's _after me and I _have_ to stop him—"

"Have you ever considered the thought of killing a person?"

He fell short. "What? If I want to stop him, I'll have to—"

Ed looked at him, his gaze firm and strong. "You'll have to take his life. You'll have to make it so he can't breathe again, can't see the world and can't feel anything else for themselves."

"He's a _monster!_ He's taken the lives of hundreds of other people, and he _deserves_ to die!"

"But if you kill him, it won't make you any better than him, will it?" Ed countered. "You'll also be a murderer, Mister 'Saviour'."

Potter fell silent, and he sighed. Why was he even helping him with the situation? And without any Equivalency in return? He recalled a familiar leather-clad man with a sharktoothed grin; Greed assisted him and taught him how to kill, hadn't he? There was no Exchange made then, only an agreement, so perhaps his words were his own little way of paying back the sick, bloodstained debt.

Ed shook his head and looked up again. "Leave, Potter. This isn't something you should concern yourself with – for once, try to enjoy what you've got instead of looking for something new."

The kid got up automatically, recognising the dismissal. He didn't say another word though, not even when he reached the door before he opened it and left the room.

Ed turned back to the scrap of fabric in his hand, threads frayed and transmuted beyond recognition. Sighing, he threw it aside to start again.

**

* * *

A/N:** So things are warming up. Until this part finishes, I'm going to see how quiet I can stay in the authors' notes so I don't spoil the story by accident. (Oh yeah, I've also gone and named the parts as well – chapter 1's been edited as a result. If you're too lazy to go back, this part is called "The Guard.")

**Next chapter:** Break  
_(This marks the start of this part's end!__)_


	15. Chapter 15: Break

**A/N: **I..I am completely behind on _everything_. School work, coaching work, reviews, fanfiction updates, updates to this story, etc etc. Don't forget that even if I don't get to replying, I love you all! ^^

Practising dialogue today =D

* * *

**Immiscibility  
**_by . NyghthawK ._

**Chapter Fifteen: Break**

It wasn't long before December came skipping by and the usual holiday sign-up sheets were hanging on the noticeboards of each common room. Harry didn't actually know whether he was to stay or not since the Order never really got back to him about it, and so he simply walked down to breakfast as per usual.

"Mornin', Harry," Seamus greeted. "Still haven't decided about staying for the winter break?"

Harry shook his head. "It's either here or the Burrow, and Ron hasn't told me anything yet. You're leaving, right?"

"Yup, me 'n Dean. Me mam's got it in her mind that she wants t' invite him to our usual Christmas dinner—"

"—so I've really got no choice but to go along or risk her wrath," Dean finished as he approached them, swinging his leg over the bench and sitting down. He nudged his best friend. "Isn't that right?"

Seamus grumbled and ignored him, turning back to his eggs.

"Harry!" Hermione called, and he turned around to see her taking the seat next to him. "You're here already – I never even noticed you leave the common room!"

"Give 'im some more credit, 'mione," Ron yawned as he chose a seat aside her, words slurred from being half-asleep. "Just cos' he's not a study worm like you doesn't mean he can't get up. Oh hey, Seamus, Dean. Can't I share a dorm with people who wake up at a normal hour?"

The post arrived just as Seamus gave the redhead a flat stare. "You sayin' we're not normal? You know, Dean and I got up early today to grab some Quidditch space right before we leave. Wanna join?"

A package fell and crashed into Ron's porridge, splattering milk all over their robes.

"Can't," Harry answered as Hermione vanished the milk and Ron gingerly dried the wrapping, noting his two friends were busy. "Alchemy classes are on this morning again."

"Bah, shucks," Dean moaned. "I tried it 'cause of my Ancient Runes grade, but it turns out the guy only chose the subjects because they 'had the precision and conditioning that alchemy required'. Never went back after the third lesson, not when we're only drawing circles and heating water under a professor that crazy."

Seamus nudged him back with the same grin. "_That's_ why you should'a quit when I did, right after the first lesson. Anyway, let's go. If we don't leave soon, there'll be no room out there left for us."

"Seeya, Harry," waved Dean and the other two Gryffindors left the Hall.

"So _is_ there any news about what we're doing for winter?" Hermione asked, and Harry knew from her tone that she wasn't just talking about the break but about any news from the Order.

He shook his head just as Ron answered. "Mum's just sent me. She wants us staying here, where it's safe, especially now that Dumbledore's gone and everyone's Secret Keeper."

"What?" Harry stared.

Hermione glanced left and right briefly before leaning closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. "If the original Secret Keeper of a Fidelius Charm passes away, then all the people who were told by the Keeper become Secret Keepers."

Ah, so the more Keepers there were the higher chance of one telling the location was. And then he frowned – the traitor Snape knew the location as well.

"Oh."

"Also, Moody thinks You-Know-Who's infiltrated the Ministry," Ron muttered as he came closer. "Remember the raid from the beginning of the term, the one that kept ol'Toady away? Apparently delays meant it took three months for the investigation to be concluded, and other than causing mass chaos, panic and destruction nothing was left or taken at all."

"So he thinks they actually went in there to Imperious people instead of this just being another terror attack?" Hermione asked. "It's certainly plausible. Plus, the terror attacks from before could have just been fakes to divert our attention from their real goal. What do you think, Harry?"

Harry didn't answer straight away. Professor Elric's words came back to his mind again, telling him not to try and do too much on his own. He would have ignored them again, but last time he'd impatiently gone in and practically given himself away so he paused and thought about the matter carefully. Even without having seen Elric's face when the subject breached getting rid of Voldemort, he could tell there was something else the man was hiding.

Had he killed before?

He blinked when something poked him and saw Ron and Hermione get up from their seats, the bell chime sounding to signal the hour.

"Are you okay, mate?" Ron asked.

Harry shook his head and gave a small smile. "Don't worry. Let's go."

* * *

Al had always joked about him having an innate sense of when something was about to happen and jumped right into it. He'd always brushed it off, saying it was only some ironic form of luck that kept landing him into situations that no sane man would have entered, and the same luck that kept him alive.

Ed twitched edgily. If he did have that sensor, it would be flashing bright, neon lights directly in his face and he couldn't do anything about it.

Something in the castle was wrong. Something felt _off_, like the feeling of leaving something on a stove and then forgetting about it until an hour later. It didn't help that he'd been jumpy for the past month when Filch decided to team with Umbridge and hunt him down, and Peeves had decided he was the most fun target in the entire freaking _castle_.

(It wasn't his fault when he'd roared upon the 'poltergeist' commenting on the height of the second years near him!)

Ed started hurrying back to his room from the kitchens, his midnight snack jarring against his stomach as he moved. He heard a small sniff and shivered, before relaxing as he spotted the energy-enchanted painting responsible. Was he tense enough that he was starting to jump at shadows?

It couldn't be – it was probably the cold.

He gently touched his hands together so he could alchemically warm himself, but paused. The energy residues he drew from were violently disturbed, the energy to one side significantly less than the other. In the castle, some places did have more residue than in others, or perhaps the difference was relative and a spellcasting session had just ended.

No, his instinct protested, the instinct that had saved him from homunculi and debt collectors both. The only reason why it would have been so disturbed would be from alchemy; from a circle that required immense amounts of power.

And he knew only of two alchemical reactions that used so much power. Human transmutation, and the cost of rebounds if a person didn't have enough Equivalancy.

He swore and ran down the corridor, intent on finding the culprit before anything worse could occur. A sudden shooting spike of pain in his side stopped him and he swore again when he remembered why _not_ to exercise with a full stomach, and that he had absolutely no idea where he was going.

Ed placed his hands together again to scan the levels of energy in the air. The high areas had already started to even out, but there was still a difference faintly obvious enough to be detected, and he headed that way in a strange limping speedwalk.

And then he froze when the sound of sobbing filled the air.

"Shit," he hissed.

Transmuting his arm into a blade just in case someone had _somehow_ managed to create a homunculus despite his firm efforts to avoid the topic, he gingerly turned around the corner toward the noise. It was getting louder as he moved; good, he was heading in the right direction.

Another corner later, and he stopped at the scene before him. He couldn't look, and yet...he couldn't leave.

Sitting atop the bloody stain, a grotesque mass of pink and white flesh pulsed and twitched. What were once white wings stuck out in unnatural angles, feathers growing in random patches across the skin. When he looked into its eyes, his heart crashed to the ground.

It was a chimera, and Pansy Parkinson had been one of the ingredients.

Ed wrenched his gaze away to look at the floor, taking in the transmutation circle drawn. It was nothing but clumsy, with the barest hint of a wave in its lines that wouldn't interfere with the final design but showed the mark of an amateur. And as for the circle itself...

A complex carbon-manipulating base. Basic runes for phosphates and hydroxyls. A clumsily modified water-based diagram infused within the design.

He tore his eyes away toward the failed product, trying not to think about the consequences the circle meant. There was nothing in the chimera left of the girl who had once been so bright, nothing left of the girl who had been so eager to learn.

Eager to learn how to perform animal transmutation, so she could have used it on herself.

Why hadn't he seen it before? How she seemed so nice despite all of the rumours clouding her reputation? How she had such a strong interest in biology, but particularly that relating to animals and to carbon-based creatures?

How showing her his circle theory would have created such a severe consequence?

"G..gold..." she breathed, and his heart ached to hear the scratchy, high pitched sound. "H—help me, Gold. Pain...too much pain..."

Ed flinched. The transmutation and the rebound distorted her so much it was hard to believe she could still speak. With how part of her skull was crushed inwards so her nose and mouth could elongate, there was no wonder why she couldn't even recognize him.

"I...it hurts. P—please, help me...!"

He couldn't look at how sickeningly elegant the warped skeleton was, or how one leg seemed to be shorter than the other. But yet, he found himself unable to tear his eyes away.

No. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not after Nina. Not with him being directly responsible for the transmutation this time, being the teacher who inadvertently encouraged her actions.

He couldn't save Nina, so was this the twisted humour that Fate possessed? Was Tucker right about how the two of them were the same...?

...

No.

Tucker was just a sick bastard. If Al were here, Ed would have long-received a thorough shouting at for even considering they were the same. Unlike the man, he knew his mistakes when he saw them, rather than creating _another_ animal-human chimera again.

Yes, he had made a mistake, and he wouldn't run away from it like he did with his mother's homunculus. He would rectify it, and take matters into his own hands.

He took a few deep breaths to calm himself before slowly approaching the chimera, keeping his false arm – and the blade – shielded by his body. Kneeling before it—her, he couldn't help it; he wrapped his arms around where he presumed the neck to be and held her close to his chest, trying not to think about how grossly disfigured her body had become.

Shiny black orbs stared at him. "He...llo?"

Ed exhaled. He forced his head up and pressed his temple to what was left of hers, looking deep into those deformed eyes. He knew the action would only make what he did harder, but she deserved the right to know he was responsible, even if she couldn't think properly.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, each word feeling like thousands of blades scratching out of this throat.

She didn't seem to hear him.

"It hurts..." she whispered, eyes showing no sign of recognition toward his words. "Please—help me..."

Ed simply nodded, once.

Before he even comprehended what he was about to do, his blade had already been lodged within her chest. The chimera—Pansy—fell and collapsed against him, but he didn't move even when blood seeped out of her chest and all over his clothes. He was too tired, and just wanted to leave, but the remains of the child in his hands kept him sitting as her warmth slowly dissipated into the chilly, night air.

And behind him, someone screamed.

* * *

**Next chapter: **Descent


	16. Chapter 16: Descent

**A/N: **Why animal transmutation? Simple. A) Ed's more used to Amestris where everyone knows the forbidden alchemy is bad and closely regulated. And so he thinks it's common knowledge. B) He's more likely to keep an eye out for human transmutation since he did it before. C) It's probably easier (compared to human trans.) and D) No one's done this twist before. :)

This chapter was going to be called 'Pansy Parkinson', but I thought that was too much of a spoiler.

* * *

**Immiscibility  
**_by . NyghthawK ._

**Chapter Sixteen: Descent**

Pansy Parkinson was an intelligent girl.

Oh, she knew she was intelligent. And more importantly, she knew how to get whatever she wanted by using her intelligence. That was why she was Slytherin, after all.

But her intelligence fell short when she met _him_.

Draco Malfoy.

Never in her life had she met someone so charming and delightfully packaged. He was the finest young man at the time, dressed in expensive robes that only fit the heir to the Malfoy line; a line that she herself had the potential to be a part of if he agreed to wed her.

But alas, nothing she had attempted worked. Repeatedly she tried to charm her way into his heart, but he always ignored her approaches. She tried to prove to him that she was worthy with how smart she was, but he easily overtook her in Ancient Runes. She spent hours upon hours improving her skills in that area, but he had already moved on.

Her parents had even tried to arrange her marriage to the Malfoy heir, but had been met with an imposingly large list of potential would-be's with talents even she fell to.

No matter what she did, he would never love her the same way she loved him.

Despite all the faith and the trust she gave him, he never even told her of his plans to kill Dumbledore. If she had known, then perhaps things would have gone differently and it would be _her_ running away with him instead of that greasy, slime-headed bastard Snape, and he wouldn't have failed.

Even _she_ knew the fate that befell those who failed the Dark Lord.

But he hadn't, and she'd had to once again attend another year at school. Zabini had promoted himself to the position Draco left, but despite his antics his ego was laughable and transparent. Fake. No Parkinson would ever fall in love with a lying backstabber like him.

And then, Professor Elric had appeared.

She'd dismissed alchemy at once, but upon seeing how swiftly and elegantly the rocky statue was created and how fine the detailing on the spear had been her mind was quickly changed. If that had only been his demonstration to the hall as to his classes, then there was a huge amount of potential for alchemy and it being useful to the Dark Lord. If she could master it and played her cards right, the Dark Lord would force Draco to marry her to keep her by their side.

And finding she had all three of the eligible O. W. L.s had only done nothing but prove to her that she was right.

All thoughts of the Dark Lord had gone out of the window when she actually attended the professor's classes. His swift, abrupt and almost brutal teaching style suited her perfectly since most of the class wouldn't be able to catch up, but it was his mention about animal transmutation that caught her attention.

_Animal transmutation; the creation of a chimera, a perfect fusion of the creatures used._

Ever since she was young, she'd always dreamt of flying. To become a bird and soar the skies as beautifully as she deserved, and a sight that would cause anyone watching to think she were an angel. Unfortunately, when she'd privately taken the test to find out her animagus form, it was nothing even remotely close to anything that could take to the air.

And so that option had been removed from her list, and she'd given up all hope of ever achieving that dream.

But now with this new alchemy, she could reach what she'd always wanted and could never have gotten, and Elric would be the one to help her reach the goal. He'd been surprisingly easy to manipulate as well; just telling him of her interest in nature and its ways had led him to give her the knowledge of everything he knew – eagerly, almost – and his half-hour bonus lessons provided a brilliant opportunity for her questioning.

When her new, beautiful, _magnificent_ snowy owl arrived in the mail on the twenty-second of December, she was ready.

She'd never assumed it would've been easy, but despite the complexities involved in each element of the transmutation the basic concept was simple enough to understand. With the work on carbon and water-based alchemy, and added to their recent classes on the breakdown and elements of transmutation circles, she'd easily modified the complex circle he'd drawn for her into something of her own design and even fixed some of the problems he'd overlooked.

Humans had water content in their bodies after all, and so long as she put in a type of symbol for each particle in the body then she would be able to control the so-called DNA he'd spoken of and fuse them perfectly together.

Her last, clear memory was when she had smiled and thought that her darling little Draco would finally be able to have an angel by his side.

Then...nothing but white.

And the bone-twisting, ear-bleeding pain.

* * *

Amelia Bones had been the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for several years, and yet even _she_ had never seen any case like the one she had to face.

It was a typical case of failed magic and the culprit attempting to get rid of the result, and that's what she had been informed by from the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol who had sent her the preliminary report.

But once the full, detailed report arrived hours later, the case was turned upside down.

For starters, it had occurred within Hogwarts, a school Britain boasted possessed one of the safest securities to be found within all of Europe, essential now that the Dark Lord had shown himself again. What made it even more condemning was that it was a teacher who was allegedly responsible for the crime, and that a student had actually been killed. They'd only been able to find the scene because of a seventh-year couple wandering past curfew.

The real clincher was that Edward Elric was only twenty years old.

Amelia had looked at the photos as soon as she found out, and saw the face of a resigned blonde who looked far too young for her liking. And they had said that _he_ was the one responsible for transfiguring and then killing a young witch later identified as Pansy Parkinson, a sixth-year student from Slytherin House.

Unlike many mentally disturbed killers she'd seen in the past, those moving, golden eyes in the photo would always never look directly at her. There was no mocking sneer, no rude gesture, only world-weary sadness that shouldn't have been on a face like his.

And the details of how gory the crime had been even made her stomach turn. The fact that the photos _moved_ didn't help, but the fact that one of the men had taken matters into their own hands and gotten the rest of them developed the muggle way slightly eased her discomfort. Parkinson had been transfigured with an owl so badly that there was next to nothing comprehensible remaining in the finalized product, and had been killed by a stab wound directly to the heart.

To say she had been stunned when the reports on Elric's two false limbs came in would have been an understatement. The blade seemed to have been transfigured directly from the metal arm, thirteen inches of razor sharp steel. Apparently, he'd also been hugging the girl as he had been stunned, and they'd had to pull the blade out before they could move him.

She pitied the poor sod left with the job, as they'd likely be spending hundreds on Dreamless Sleep for the rest of their lives.

They'd gotten him moved directly into a holding cell the moment he got to the Ministry, not wanting to take any risks despite his stunned condition. Moody had dropped a plane in instructing them to keep his wrists shackled apart and preventing him from accessing any form of writing instrument at all, and despite the strange requests she'd passed the orders on, knowing the veteran Auror would explain himself later.

Knocks sounded from her door before it opened, revealing her secretary on the other side. "Madam Bones, the Parkinsons have arrived. They are with Cross arranging a date for the trial, but their solicitor would like to request a meeting with you."

"Decline. I will have no business meeting with him before the trial is to take place, and he should know that."

"But—"

"Not after something like the Malfoy case."

Her secretary bowed. "Very well, ma'am."

When he left, Amelia took one last look at the photos before placing them back within the folder. Elric wasn't innocent, not with that much proof against him. It would be unlikely for him to only leave the room with only a fine unless he happened to have something akin to an _army_ of extremely skilled lawyers by his side – something only a man like Lucius Malfoy would have been able to pull off.

But she had seen those eyes before. The look in his eyes were identical to that in the eyes of highly trained Aurors who had returned many times from difficult missions, missions where they had been forced to do something morally difficult. It was the familiar, resigned and painful look of self-loathing, of having done something they wouldn't have done but were forced to do.

The question was _why_ someone so young was even trained so well and had been forced to do those things.

Where did he come from?

And...what happened for him to lose two of his limbs?

* * *

**A/N: **I know I said I'd be quiet, but...does anyone know tips for a stomach ache? I think I ate something bad..

**Next chapter: **Crimson


	17. Chapter 17: Crimson

**A/N: **I'm starting to run out of fuel; this schedule's really tiring. But I'll still try to keep with the weekly updates, since I know how bad it is to wait when a story is at its climax (or in this case, this part.)

Thank you to all my reviewers! I love you to bits! :D Also—Harry's year group is actually sixth, so Pansy's a sixth year. I swapped books 5 and 6 around to a point, that's all.

* * *

**Immiscibility  
**_by . NyghthawK ._

**Chapter Seventeen: Crimson**

For General Roy Mustang, it was just one of those days in the office. Paperwork, more paperwork, and the absence of beautiful girls to talk to ever since his phone line became monitored. At least it was one of those days where Hawkeye wasn't there to force him to work – a strange sight to see, especially since it was a Major ordering around a General – but she'd also somehow stationed an order for him _not_ to leave the office until everything was completed.

There _had_ to be something in the book that stated it was illegal for her to install a lock outside of his door and take away the key. (There probably was, but he knew he'd never use it against her either.)

Roy paused after reading Alphonse Elric's request to go to Xing with the small ambassadorial convey assembled, and re-read it again. Although unusual for an outsider to request anything of the military, having an Elric ask made it the more so but the desert between the two countries was foolish to cross alone.

He twirled his pen. Alphonse wasn't a part of the military, so he would have a higher chance of succeeding at learning the rentanjutsu he pursued. If he _did_ manage to learn it, then it would be far too easy to pull some strings and feign equivalency to get him passing the knowledge onto their own State Alchemists...

Roy closed his eyes so he didn't flinch, placing his pen to the paper and signing without having to think. The Elric brothers had already done so much for the State they loathed already, and perhaps it was time he let them enjoy the rest of their lives in peace. They probably didn't realize it, but Roy actually owed them quite a few favours that they'd never tried to claim despite living their lives with Equivalency as key.

(Edward had mentioned at some point too that Dante said Equivalency didn't exist before dissolving into a rant about how wrong she was. Despite the fact that Roy wasn't the intended target, he'd heard the conversation and wondered how hypocritical the Elric was trying to be. Perhaps to him, things were Equivalent, but they weren't for the State and all the people of Amestris.)

Roy relocated the signed form to another part of his desk and turned back to find the current stack gone. Suddenly unbothered to pull another stack toward him, he instead pulled out the project he was working on in his spare time, and stared at the paper blankly.

The transmutation circle winked back.

He knew it was stupid to think into the Gate, because it was just one of those things which just existed without exception. It broke every law of science and physics he knew, and ever since he'd watched Alphonse destroy the one on their side whilst waiting for the other Elric to return from the other side he couldn't help but be in awe of the thick, sweeping lines and how that combination could unleash something so incredible.

But now he was missing, and presumably dead. After Edward hadn't contacted his family and friends when he promised, the Rockbell girl was the one to ask for his help in locating the Elric about two weeks later, and she was one person he couldn't find in himself to refuse. A long trail of multiple disguises, hideouts and countries finally ended at a building with only one exit, the Fullmetal Alchemist's signature style of transmutation all over the walls and floor.

(Roy had actually raised an eyebrow at some of the things on the trail, and wondered exactly how desperate the blonde had to be if he had to disguise as a girl thrice just to avoid his fame and investigate in peace. Unfortunately, Edward's tendency to transmute without thinking meant that he would be easily identified, aiding their investigation further.)

He had just jotted down another note when he heard it – a faint hissing from inside the walls of his office. Roy rose slowly out of his chair with his glove raised and ready to take on whatever practical joke was prepared for him _this_ time—

—and then water fell onto him, drenching him from head to toe. When he managed to barely open his eyes against the sprinklers' onslaught, the blurry figures showed at least two more people in the room—a quick sensing of air composition told him of one other person behind him and another responsible for the closing of the blinds.

He snapped his fingers, but the fabric was useless when wet. The sprinkler meant that trying to rearrange the composition of the water in his glove wasn't an option, because more water would just replace what he could remove.

_Shit._

One of the people took something out of his pocket and the shuffle of fabrics nearby told him that others were doing the same. The water was making it difficult to open his eyes completely, but another composition scan told him they were probably blades and guns though one had a slip of organic material (paper? fabric?) instead; probably an alchemist.

Roy didn't move. It wasn't that there was anywhere to move, but he was useless without a spark and without the gun in his third drawer. He could probably transmute something to turn the tables, but that required a transmutation circle and the only ones he had were on the backs of his gloves – ones that only worked for his usual spark and for sensing the air.

—_unless_—

No. He couldn't use the one on his desk; that had been designed for one purpose, and it wasn't malleable enough for him to mentally modify. But...

He made his choice as soon as he heard a gun being cocked, and felt the disturbance within the air molecules that meant that something was moving. In that instant, Roy forced his eyes open, reached out for his desk and slammed his hand onto the circle. He sent a burst of alchemical power through the design, and felt the unreal presence of the Gate loom up behind him.

And before he could do anything more he found himself flying, shot through the chest and landing deep into the golden void.

The doors of the Gate slammed closed behind him.

* * *

Something hit his head.

He groaned. "I'm doing my paperwork, Major Hawkeye."

No one spoke. Something landed on his leg.

"Command Sergeant Fuery, tell Lieutenant Breda to stop throwing those paper balls again."

Pause.

Something cut his sleeve, giving his elbow a deep scratch.

"Goddamnit!" he exclaimed, jumping up and out of the seat. "Lieutenant Havoc, just _stop_—"

A flurry of something that was decidedly _not_ Havoc twitched and squawked behind him. Roy froze mid-leap, and slowly turned his head around to see an owl perching on a table.

...

An _owl_. Perching on a _table_.

And then one plus one equalled two as his mind finally finished adding all of the data from his senses, and his eyes widened. The owl was the one to bite him and probably landed on him earlier, he knew that, but what he _didn't_ know was _why the hell he was in someone else's house_ after seeing the Gate.

Or more importantly, _why the _hell_ he was wearing someone else's clothes._

Roy picked at the robe-thing he seemed to be wearing now and frowned when the cotton touch felt slightly muffled, as if he were feeling through his gloves. Except, his gloves weren't on and he would probably never see them again. Wait, Edward had mentioned something else when he'd returned, something probably not meant for his ears but within hearing range nonetheless...

"_You can never believe, Al, just _how_ irritating it was to be in my alter self's body."_

...

Impossible. Improbable. There was _no freaking way_, no _freaking_, _conceivable way_ that he was in someone else's body. Sure, there was that little chance he _did_ happen to be on the other side of the Gate, fully alive and in one piece, but...really? How could a person be in another person's body?

It was so insane...but it, coupled with Edward's earlier words, meant that it was the only thing that made sense.

Trying to distract himself, he grabbed the first thing his eyes set on – the 'Duel World' magazine that had landed on him. The owl hooted when he picked it up and wiggled a leg to bring attention to the pouch tied to it.

Roy's brain clicked again, and he searched his—_the_ pockets of the robe-thing and took out the money bag inside it, before spilling some of it onto his hand.

And then, he could only stare at the strange bronze and silver pieces in his hand. The currency was completely different, so how would he know how much he had to pay?

The owl clicked irritably as he stood there, before flying across to his lap and pecking at three of the bronze pieces. Roy obliged, feeling rather stupid as he placed the coins into the pouch against its leg and then watched it fly back out the window to wherever it came from. Retreating to the magazine again just so he could find out a little more about where he happened to be, he only took a moment to blink at the moving pictures and start reading.

...

...

A minute later found him scavenging the house for some kind of dictionary. Or a few.

* * *

**A/N: **So yeah, Mustang's old crew got promoted. And Roy's now dead and stuck in his Alter's body, oh dear. The plot twists continue! :)

**Next chapter:** Trial


	18. Chapter 18: Trial

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone for their feedback! :) I've had so much work lately, but it should calm down in about two weeks or so. I think.

Also, I've never been to a trial thingy. Ever. But I've tried to imitate the style used in book 5.

Just for the record...longest chapter ever! Yay! (oh, and I changed my penname so now it doesn't have those dots.)

* * *

**Immiscibility  
**_by NyghthawK_

**Chapter Eighteen: Trial**

Ed had done some pretty stupid things in his life, he knew that. He'd attempted human transmutation, taken the State Alchemist's exam, burnt down his house, tried to defeat homunculi single-handedly, and the list went on.

But not once had he ever gotten arrested, and it was now, in the courtroom, did he finally realize _how_ much Mustang had helped him in the past.

And frankly, it sucked.

Someone had known about his ability to use alchemy without a circle, and orders had evidently been passed down to make sure his hands were kept apart. Okay, that he could deal with. He'd also been confined to a cell that barely could have even be called a cell with how sparsely it was furnished. That he could deal with too – he'd lived and been in worse.

But a trial, facing a huge bunch of 'wizards' who thought they were all high and mighty considering how disgustedly they looked down – that's right, _down_ at him?

Nuh uh.

The childish, Fullmetal Alchemist part of him protested and wanted _out_ of the annoying wooden chair. The part of him that had been conditioned from his time in Germany (and sounded suspiciously like Alfons—no, he didn't want to think about that _now_) kept trying to calm the first part down, knowing that attracting attention equated to being killed.

And the rest of him was just bored. Bored and so terribly annoyed.

He didn't even get a lawyer, or whatever it was. Wasn't he supposed to get one? He didn't know, Mustang was the guy who was usually in charge of these situations.

"The Wizengamot is now in session," someone said, the introductions finally concluding. They continued to describe the events that had occurred, asking for confirmation between each party.

Ed grudgingly gave his nod. If there was one thing he _did_ know, it was to shut up and think before talking. He only hoped that for once, his mouth agreed with his brain.

"You are Edward Elric?" They asked.

Aha, a question easy enough. "Yes."

"Your age?"

"Twenty."

"Country of origin?"

Mentally, Ed frowned. _Amestris_, he thought. "Germany."

A half-truth, since that had been the geographical location of his home town, just on their side of the Gate.

The glares seemed to increase in number, but the person spoke again. "What part of Germany?"

_Shit._ Where was it again...? "Ah...Munich."

He could have sworn that someone in the shadows turned around and whispered for a check of his data. That was bad; this world's Edward Elric supposedly died in the early twentieth century.

After a few moments of more silence, they returned with that unnatural dimension-distorting _crack_. "There was no file, sir."

"Is he even a _wizard?_" someone else asked, and murmuring resonated throughout the room.

"Silence!" another, firmer person called, banging their gavel against the desk. "If you would?"

His first questioner nodded before turning back to Ed. "Do you possess any magical blood?"

"Would I be here if I did?"

Some more whispering broke out, whispers about his muggle status. Honestly, he couldn't have cared less about it – these energy-casters were so pigheaded, dividing their society from the non-magical kind. Alchemists were there for the people, and the energy-casters were nothing but selfish prats.

Discreetly, he fingered the mechanism keeping his hands apart. He could tell there were many weak points within the wooden structure, only kept strong by the magic charms placed onto it. If he could break the charms, he'd be able to break out. And as for breaking it, if he got something to make a circle...

He tried not to show anything on his face when he jiggled out the small pin Winry installed in his automail, an addition he'd requested ever since his capture by Barry the Chopper.

Shuffling occurred in the background, and some more commands were called that he had no clue of. A few introductions he barely listened to later and the man sitting with the Parkinsons stood up, someone he suspected was a legal expert of some sort. Okay, so it was that guy's turn to be a part of the question and answer game.

"Where were you on the eve of the twenty-third of December?"

Ed sighed. They probably knew everything already.

"I was up late working on some research when I got hungry. So then I headed down to the kitchens for some snacks. On my way back I sensed a disturbance in the energy content within the air when I was starting my circle, and—"

"Please elaborate on this 'energy' and the 'circle'."

Ed groaned. These guys didn't even know the basics of alchemy!

"Let's get this straight. I'm not one of your 'wizards'. I'm an alchemist; a scientist, if you like." He answered. "You guys should've done your research before today."

"Answer the question."

He twitched. "A transmutation circle is required for any alchemical reaction to be performed, and the energy refers to the magical residue you guys leave after performing a spell. Alchemy requires drawing energy from the environment to fuel a transmutation."

"What is this 'transmutation'—"

"Transmutation is the word to describe the entire process of alchemy," he explained on, hoping he really didn't have to spell everything out for them. "Analysis, deconstruction, construction. Alchemy is performed by first analysing the components of an object, deconstructing those components into individual parts and then reconstructing them into something new—"

If Ed had noticed the glint in his questioner's eye, or if a word-weaver such as Mustang happened to be his spokesperson instead, perhaps his statement would have been worded differently.

But neither of those things occurred, and so the questioner caught him hook, line and sinker.

"And, I presume that would be the process you used to fuse Miss Parkinson and the owl before you killed her?"

_What?_

"I did _not_ perform animal transmutation on _anyone_," he growled. "Miss Parkinson tricked me into creating a transmutation circle that would alter the biological components of a human being because she said she wanted to learn how doctoring alchemists heal—"

"So you _did_ possess knowledge on how to...'transmute' her into what she became before she died."

Ed scowled. "I _warned_ her that the circle was only theory and shouldn't have been attempted, but she modified it and accidentally made it unstable and unsuitable for use!" She didn't need to add the water-adjusting circle, as he'd been focusing on the scale of DNA. Most likely she'd done so because she knew that humans were primarily composed of water, but her adjustments created a dreadful imbalance.

"Don't avoid the answer," his questioner demanded. "Did you possess knowledge on how to change her into what she was?"

He'd suspected it a while ago, but now he truly knew—the trial was rigged. He had signed a charmed document that pledged him to tell the truth, but the truthful answer to the question would only incriminate him. Half-truths wouldn't help him here.

More than ever, he cursed the sheer amount of alchemical theory he knew and his stint in human biology. And, especially his decision to go through Tucker's research notes.

"Only the basic theory," he answered.

"Do you possess the ability to create it?"

"...yes."

"Did you turn her into the creature?"

"No, I didn't," he hissed. He'd seen Nina, and he'd _never_ do anything that disgusting. "She tricked me into giving her the transmutation circles she used, even though I made not to talk about it during class."

"And," his questioner continued, ignoring him completely. "Did you kill Pansy Parkinson?"

Ed paused, his glare only increasing. They'd skipped over the main question on who performed the transmutation just to focus on the fact that he'd killed. And furthermore, he had to tell the truth. Mustang wouldn't even have been able to twist his way out of this situation.

"Yes," he gritted.

His questioner smirked victoriously, not even bothering to hide it. "You see! This man is obviously guilty of the crime!"

Ed scowled when the man jabbed his finger in his direction. He'd almost finished scratching the circle, if only his hand could bend just a little more...

"He has admitted his ability and knowledge for creating the human-owl creature we found at the scene, and underneath the creature is undoubtedly the very 'transmutation circle' he used with his alchemy to do so. And listen to this – he states that he has not taught any of the students about this, so there is no doubt that he is lying about her tricking the information out of him. Furthermore, we've received reports of his absence from his teaching position around the third of October—"

"That's because I was out of the castle, taking a stroll in the forest!" Ed shouted back.

_Just a tiny bit left, and..._

He bit back a faint smile.

_Done._

"For the whole week? Obviously there is more to the story than what's at hand." His questioner shook his head and tutted. "Regardless of who was responsible for creating the creature, I would like to bring your attention to the fact that he has at least killed a human being. Even though she wasn't in a form easily recognizable as human, she still possessed a mind and was as human as any of us."

He gestured violently in Ed's direction again.

"This _muggle_ has used the ancient, long-lost art of alchemy that magic has long known to be inferior and used it to kill one of the brightest children in the Wizarding World! Pansy Parkinson was the bright, intelligent and lively girl from the long-esteemed pureblood Parkinson line, and he has prevented any chance of their name from progressing any longer.

"And for that, her family believes he should receive the punishment he deserves from taking her away from them. Imagine if your own child were to have been transfigured into a monster, but then killed before medi-Witches could reverse the damage; because he didn't only implicates him further."

With his words, it was no longer a hushed murmuring that rippled across the room. Shouts and cries became the equivalent of discussion, and the firmer person who silenced them before had to bang the gavel five times before the sounds died down.

"You may now sit down, Reyes," one of the other people who had spoken before commanded, and the questioner obeyed.

"Don't you think you're being too harsh?" someone from the audience called down from behind him. Ed couldn't see anything due to being shackled down, but his ears were enough for him to know they were escorted out of the room.

An all too familiar simper requested to speak, and when they were approved he saw Umbridge stand up from her little corner. She was also dressed in the robes all the rest of the court wore, and from where he was even he could see the smirk on her face.

Alright. He was doomed. She would be probably – _definitely_ – dealing payback for all the times he'd eluded her grasp during the school year.

"Perhaps we presume that he is innocent, and give him another chance," she said. "However, the answer that eludes me is _why_, exactly, Mister Elric chose to kill the child instead of handing her over to the Masters of transfiguration."

Ed hissed. Didn't these people _understand?_

"Care to enlighten us, Mister Elric?"

"Listen," he commanded lowly, adopting the dangerous tone that Mustang sometimes used against him after he'd gone and ignored Al, destroying something he shouldn't have. "Alchemy is not like your _transfiguration_. It is a _science_. Inanimate objects can be changed back, however the reason why complete biological transmutation is forbidden is because the former states of the 'ingredients' cannot be returned. We haven't yet figured out the details, but a part of the soul disappears as the Equivalent cost for merging the two DNA and souls cannot be recreated. _Her state was irreversible._"

Umbridge raised an eyebrow. "My fellow Wizengamot, I hope you will agree with me in that the process he describes is crude and far closer to the Dark Arts than any magic of our own. I would like to suggest that he killed Miss Parkinson purely because he did not wish for his experiments to go found—"

"_You—"_ Playtime was _over_. "Due to the forced splicing of the DNA, chimera created by alchemy suffer intense pain for all of their lives. Any attempts you make to change her back would only prolong the pain further, and give her no reprieve!"

Umbridge paused for a moment and looked at him consideringly, a smile licking at the corners of her lips in a way that boded badly. Finally, she spoke.

"Presume, that what he states is true. That these..._chimera_ are irreversible. However, we have no proof of this and can only take his words as fact, therefore leaving them worthless." A smile licked at the corners of her lips and a smug tone entered her voice. Ed's stomach dropped. "But, as alchemy is required for them and as Mister Elric is the only reputable alchemist the Magical world knows at this time, then perhaps he can be called upon to create one and thereby prove his innocence."

...

No. No—_fucking_—no. She was asking him to create a chimera, something he'd _never, ever, ever_ do.

But he hadn't been around manipulators long enough for nothing. Even if he _were_ to create one and allow them to test it, they would still be able to try him on his ability to make them since he was the only proper alchemist around and upon the fact that the Parkinson girl – his student – was one of the ingredients.

That Umbridge was a sneaky _bitch_.

Ed growled, wanting nothing more than to lash out at her and punch her face in. But he wasn't stupid – even though he had his scratched-in circle drawn so he could deconstruct the shackles, his legs would still be tied to the chair. With all the guards armed with their wands ready, he wouldn't even have enough time to clap his hands and destroy the iron.

"Oh? No answer, Mister Elric?" She smiled, an annoyingly false smile that seemed to be her favourite. "Very well, I believe you just gave up your final chance at freedom."

_Freedom_, his _ass_.

He heard her sit back in her seat, but he just kept staring at the ground. Ed knew that there was absolutely no way he would get out of his situation unscathed; he would probably be imprisoned again. Likely, it would be for life.

And there would be no way for him to get back to Amestris again.

"The Wizengamot will now adjourn until a verdict is reached."

Ed didn't care. All of his senses were hyperalert as he waited for the perfect opportunity to use his circle and run. It would have to be the moment after he was unchained from the chair and in a relatively empty area, but he would wait.

He _needed_ to wait, if he wanted any chance of getting out of there at all.

* * *

"Edward Elric is hereby found guilty for the murder of Pansy Parkinson, and use of the Dark Arts. The Wizengamot has decided there is too much of a risk in obliviating him and returning him to the Muggle world.

"He will be sentenced to Azkaban for the rest of his life."

* * *

**Next chapter: **Mistake  
_(that is the second last chapter of _The Guard_! D=)_


	19. Chapter 19: Mistake

**A/N: **I just want to say that, though I've seen a few fics threaten it, I've never read one that actually sent Ed to Azkaban. But I haven't been reading anything recently and am behind about 100 or so fanfiction updates dating back several months, so...

I seem to have confused a few people with the last chapter thing. There are two parts to _Immiscibility_, and so there's no sequel. This chapter is the second last chapter of part one, _The Guard_. Think of them as arcs if you have to.

Anyway, we're starting description writing during English, so this's been influenced a lot. Fear not for my later chapters though, because I don't think I can last having my chapters so descriptive anyway.

...is FFN's emails lagging, or is that just me? :/

* * *

**Immiscibility  
**_by NyghthawK_

**Chapter Nineteen: Mistake**

"_Debilito!_"

"_Stupefy!_"

"_Petrificus Totalus!_"

In the next moment, five things happened at once.

First, Ed's senses shut down around him. His ability to distinguish colours left him first, followed by the rest of his eyesight until the world became nothing but fuzzy, grey smog. His hearing deteriorated until the only sound he could hear was in the form of a quick, buzzing drone, as if he were confined to a room with hundreds of bees around him. Touch became muffled, almost like reaching through thick layers of cloth, and when smell and taste both clogged up he couldn't help but compare it to a horrible cold in hindsight.

The second and third things that occurred were that he felt the pang of a familiar shock run through his system as his nerves flared before being thrown into the back of the wooden chair by the force of the blast. Being the fourth time within four months of him shot with the stunning spell it wasn't unfamiliar, but Ed couldn't help but curse and swear never to be hit by the thing again.

Next, another jolt went up his system as his limbs locked together. Comparing the pain of the two shocks would have been like a taser to a burn – completely different types, one interior and one exterior, but both equally as painful. As if the stunner hadn't been bad enough, he now suffered the humiliation of the Full-Body Bind added on top.

But finally, his automail failed. None of the other events could have compared to it. For years Ed had been travelling with it, and in the last few on his own he'd practically forgotten the feeling of it being broken. And though he was under three restricting spells at once, his limbs' sudden malfunction became acutely noticeable in the blurry silence.

Though the automail functioned normally even within a place like Hogwarts, their sudden breakdown didn't occur under a mysterious reason. Ed didn't know, but the difference between magical energy running inside a person's body and that same energy being present outside the body equated for the difference. The automail that relied on a human's natural bioelectricity could not run with the overload of hexes coursing within him. An amount of energy that large violently disrupted his biorhythm, leaving his limbs as scrap metal until he recovered.

"_Shit..._" he mumbled, hating the lifeless feeling. It may even have been better that they were destroyed as opposed to simply dying out, since he knew that Winry's skill was the only thing actually keeping them attached to his body.

Around him, even through his dulled senses, he felt people moving. From the angles and distances of the buzzing voices he 'saw' the audience and the court on the upper level leaving the room. Closer to ground level, though, people were filing in and the sound of their footsteps were enough for him to detect the meticulous rhythm; they probably underwent special training, much like the military.

They encircled his chair, and the faint outlines he could see showed their wands outstretched in his direction. Brilliant—it was like a witch-hunt, but this time in reverse.

Some words were said—orders—but he couldn't decipher them. The cuffs around his legs and wrists loosened before being removed, but instead of removing the Full-Body Bind like Ed originally anticipated, they chose to float him in the air.

The minutes following that were nothing short of mortifying. It was too bad the spell could only partially shut down his senses, since he could hear the gossiping mutters and see the people watching. Though it hadn't been clear, the way they spoke pissed him off. He wasn't some exhibition in a _zoo_ or anything-!

He was escorted—floated? frogmarched?—through several long, twisting corridors, before entering some sort of lift and descending at least five floors. He could only be relieved when the spectators no longer dotted the paths, but couldn't help the chill through his spine as they touched down and the doors opened again.

Especially not with the dank smell of moss and stone in the air, coupled with the thin coating of dust that somehow ended up in his mouth despite not opening it at all.

There were, it seemed, a few more hallways to travel as Ed found himself floating along again. But unlike the earlier ones, walled by black, glossy tiles and scenting of clean but chilly air, he could feel the uneven, sharp surface of the low ceiling as he tried avoiding dirty areas that made him sneeze. The path itself was also a dramatic change, as each section tended to be short and the entire route winding.

Almost, if it weren't for the tiny creatures scuttering away when he neared, he could imagine himself being inside a larger-than-life, novelty maze.

He found himself coming to a stop several turns later, and then floated to the ground. Landing in a heap, the faint sound of clanging and then the feeling of rushing water flew through him, and Ed finally found himself returning to his senses.

It was a jail cell. Without a doubt, the bars along the walls and the flimsy metal bed gave the place away. The smell of dank, dusty stone assaulted his senses without warning, and he tried to cover his nose without avail. His hands were still bound by the weak wooden structure, but when he felt for his transmutation circle he found it gone; probably replaced. His pin disappeared also, so there was no way for him to perform any kind of transmutation.

At least, he mused, his automail had just about returned to full function.

Ed scowled and glared at the wall, trying to ignore the whispers around him. _New prisoner, Hogwarts professor, Dark Arts, murdered a pure-blood..._yes, he was in jail all right. And it'd all been because of the Umbridge _bitch_, rigging his trial and even _asking_ him to make a human-animal chimera!

_That Umbri—Um_bitch_!_

He stood up. He couldn't stand crouching any more, he needed something to do. So he busied himself with some lower-body exercises until he couldn't bear that either.

Those exercises took him half an hour, but felt to his internal body clock to be something like two.

The other prisoners suddenly became louder without warning and Ed grit his teeth, willing them to just _shut up and leave him in_ _peace_. If he had to be in jail, he could at least be in peace. They could at least give him the time to...

...the time to—what?

Sit and stew over all of his past mistakes?

As if sensing the change in emotion, the temperature plummeted by at least twenty degrees. Ed hissed, a small part of him expecting to see his breath come out in a smoky puff but the absence stirred his scientific half to say the chill was fully internal. It made sense, since his automail wasn't freezing his sockets off.

But it didn't ease the anger of the magic-users and their _spells_ to force him feeling that way. Prisoners had rights, didn't they?

_Rights—_

He couldn't do anything when his legendary mind shut down.

—_seven years old; Al laughing happily with his mother while only he saw his father leave, never to return—_

—_ten years old; grief. His mother's last breath, then all is still. The _bastard_ leaving his wife to die, nowhere in sight—_

—_eleven years old; a dark shadow. Cold; despair; human transmutation. _Failure _and it was all his fault—_

—_twelve years; Nina. Despair; longing; cold—far too cold, all his fault—_

—_thirteen years; a swinging silver watch. The lion of the State; _chained_ to be a dog of the military—_

—_sixteen years; Al, gone. Lyra—no, Dante. Regaining himself—happiness—Equivalency, Al—failure—_his failure_—restoration—_

—_eighteen; Eckhart—Alfons—all his fault—_all his **fucking** fault––

The flashbacks stopped, and Ed snarled. Bringing his left leg back, he swung it toward the bed with as much force as he could.

The metal literally shattered.

Hands restrained and needing another output, he punched the wall with both of his hands.

A few fragments fell from where his automail impacted the stone. The hints of a bruise began to form on his left.

Ed knew that a part of him wasn't in place. He _knew_ his all his sanity had escaped him. But all he did was snarl again, relishing the output of twenty years' frustration. Frustration at himself, and frustration at the world.

No, Alphonse wasn't around to stop his rampage; not this time.

_Not this time._

Wizards—energy casters, were essentially foolish. Overconfident in their abilities; overconfident that their spells could keep him restrained.

And so they thought they could _torture_ him, did they? Rub all his failures in his face?

Hah.

Hah.

There was a reason Edward Elric became a State Alchemist only three years after learning the art. The wizards underestimated him. They underestimated his alchemy, only seeing the Equivalency as a cost; a handicap that they could do without, even though their _wands_ were their own.

It were as if they thought he could only use residual magic for transmutation.

In alchemy, though, there were many different ways to pay Equivalency.

Ed snarled once more, and he clenched the wall.

Though they'd locked his wrists, he would show them.

He would show them the _true_ power of an alchemist.

* * *

**Next chapter: **Launch


	20. Chapter 20: Launch

**A/N:** So, this is the last chapter of _The Guard_. Also, I'm going to be hosting a competition where you can win a printed copy of Immiscibility; read the A/N at the bottom when you're done.

* * *

**Immiscibility  
**_by NyghthawK_

**Chapter Twenty: Launch**

She was the Dark Lord's most trusted Death Eater. And Bellatrix Lestrange knew this. It had been only one of two thoughts keeping her sane in Azkaban, after all.

The other was that she would remain within Azkaban as long as it took, to prove her loyalty to the Dark Lord.

Of course she knew about the new guy. Edward Elric, the few wizarding guards had gossiped, arrested for killing the Parkinsons' daughter. She cared not for the newer inmates, since none of them posed a threat to her position by the Dark Lord's side, nor did she care about the Parkinsons' loss.

The Dark Lord was the only one who mattered. He would help her escape when the time came.

Bellatrix had been grooming her hair when it happened, easily tuning out the waves of screams and howls as the dementors did their rounds. It had been a normal day, her finding only three knots and a small spider (that found itself squished and thrown out the bars) until the ground started shaking.

And then, all at once, the walls shook and cracked, the roof not collapsing because of the spells placed on it. Those spells didn't stop some large pieces of rubble falling from the barriers between each cell, and it would only be a matter of time until they ran out of energy and the entire Ministry would be caved in.

Instantly, Bellatrix snapped into action. Without a doubt, this was the Dark Lord's signal. He wanted them to escape and once again be by his side.

Once she stepped through the bars, she didn't bother rounding up the rest of the inmates. Her only target would be the exit. So, broken chains rattling behind her, she stalked through the corridors with only that goal in mind.

The guards were all too busy casting spell after spell to stop the roof falling in that it became far too easy to sneak up to one and steal their wand. All she needed to do now was escape the anti-Apparition wards around the prison and make her getaway.

She didn't know why, but as she passed the cell assigned to the newbie she felt an urge to stop. The after-presence of dementors hung heavy in the air, but that alone wouldn't have been enough for her to hesitate. No, there was something else—something purer, and richer.

Raw energy.

Bellatrix had only heard of it. Malfoy'd been goading at the time, telling her that whoever found it first would be rewarded from the Dark Lord, and that he had full intentions of doing so. She hadn't cared; after all, the unforgivable curses were all they needed. Raw energy had only been a myth.

_Aren't legends and myths based on some truth, Bella?_ Narcissa had asked her, but at the time Bellatrix had just scoffed and changed the subject.

Now, though...

She made her decision and looked into the cell. As she'd expected, the newbie was collapsed on the ground, but he'd been curled up so small she almost missed him amidst what met her eyes.

A complex circular pattern was drawn on the wall, one she couldn't make heads or tails out of. That wasn't relevant to her; no.

What _was_ relevant, were the large cracks that spiderwebbed out from the circular pattern; the design remaining perfectly intact.

Bellatrix stepped inside and could finally notice the crimson tint within the lines, and the coppery tang in the air. The source was obvious – it came from the resident of the cell; he'd slashed two of his fingers on the edge of a smashed bedrail, and then proceeded to use the blood in drawing the metre-wide array.

Then the shock hit her at once. The walls shattering hadn't been the Dark Lord's signal.

It had been done by an external source.

...No.

Impossible.

She almost ripped the fabric of the newbie's sleeve as she checked his left arm for the Mark—the Mark that proved he'd only been a messenger working for the Dark Lord's favour. Finding none, she chewed her bottom lip so fiercely that she almost drew blood, and then literally rolled the body over and tore off the sleeve on the right in the hopes they made a mistake.

Then she froze when she was met with shiny, solid steel. The body then shifted, revealing the false left leg.

Impossible—_impossible._ Had the man been in such favour with the Dark Lord, that he'd been gifted with such advanced metallic limbs?

Had _this man_ stolen _her_ position as the Dark Lord's most faithful right-hand?

She raised the wand she now held in her possession, wondering what curse to use on the man. Thousands of excuses for ran through her head—_he'd been killed during the escape_—and the Avada Kedavra was at the tip of her tongue.

But that was when she paused.

No. That was wrong. The Dark Lord wasn't one to make a mistake such as placing the Dark Mark on a person's right arm, for he was perfect.

_The man wasn't affiliated with the Dark Lord._

She almost, _almost_ cast the killing curse anyway, just because she'd been played for such a fool. But she stopped herself in time.

So Lucius wanted to beat her in delivering the raw energy to the Dark Lord, did he?

Bellatrix smiled.

She would show him.

* * *

The other side of the Gate, Roy decided, was definitely _not_ like anything he'd anticipated.

For one thing, it apparently ran on magic. As a scientist, he didn't believe any of it, but all of the books around 'his' home seemed to claim it so, and the time he'd tried one of the listed spells it had been successful.

But thankfully, Edward seemed to have been mistaken since Alchemy _did_ work. Perhaps the young prodigy couldn't adapt to the new source of energy required to be drawn from, a source of energy that Roy'd figured out to be from 'magic' spells. Though, the older Elric _was_ a prodigy after all, and after careful research the evidence pointed to there being none of the 'magical' energy around him. The most obvious lay within the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, something he discovered from 'Hogwarts, A History'_._

Another letter flew through the mail slot along with the daily morning newspaper, and Roy reflexively snapped his fingers when the cold winter air blew past him. Nothing happened.

Roy sighed.

Though the feeling of wearing gloves had begun to fade away, he'd still slip up. Mentally, he made a note to reproduce his ignition cloth so he could return to full function.

He resorted to flicking the wand-thing; one pattern to warm himself up, one pattern to warm his tea, and the last to summon the two objects to where he sat. The energy supply in the air needed to be replenished if he kept using alchemy, after all.

Roy put the newspaper aside and glanced at the letter. He sighed; his alternative self got a lot of fan mail. And with a name like Royston Mugford and one fan's extremely flamboyant titling of 'Master duellist extraordinaire, Wizard of the Unspoken Charm, six-times All-England Wizarding Duel Champion and current victor of the World Wizarding Duel Championships', it was no wonder.

(Actually, according to the certificates and trophies he found, his alter self had won a little more than that. But he didn't really care; it wasn't as if he had any interest in them.)

Waving the wand again to burn the bit of fan mail, he mused that being with the legendary _Wizard of the Unspoken Charm_ did have its benefits. Casting spells seemed to have been so ingrained that they became just a simple matter of thinking the incantation and muscle memory.

Roy sipped his tea and was then about to throw the newspaper in the pile he'd gathered in one corner but froze.

Did—did he just see Edward's face?

Gingerly, he removed the elastic band and spread the paper over his lap. The front-page headline screamed at him:

**AZKABAN: COLLAPSE  
**Is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named making his return?

He tried to read the article, but like many of the other papers he only managed to understand every third paragraph. That was the main reason why he'd simply decided to store them for later reading and just concentrate on absorbing more knowledge about where he was – the so-called Wizarding World's culture was so radically different that just peeking into a book for definitions no longer became enough.

But Roy wasn't stupid. Just because he didn't understand the entire article didn't mean that he didn't get the gist of it. The non-understanding part was what often made him annoyed and backtrack. So he pieced together the headline, several paragraphs and the list of escapees – Edward's included – and the result didn't look too good.

Somehow, for some reason, the only person who could help him get back to Amestris had been arrested for some reason and was now on the run.

Roy groaned. Just like in his time as Colonel, Edward Elric was blessed with perfect timing.

Wait.

_Time._

Edward couldn't have been on this side of the Gate for long, so if Roy backtracked and found out _how_ the Gate-tripping blond got himself in prison then he may have some more clues to tracking him down.

And so, he walked over to the majestic pile of newspapers and used a Searching Charm for the elder Elric's name. The ball of light fluttered to several papers and Roy unfurled all of them on the spot.

And paused.

_...former Alchemy Professor at Hogwarts, Edward Elric, to be stood at trial this afternoon._

One minute was enough for him to know that Edward had tried to turn a person into a bird. Roy flipped a bit more, and one more minute told him that the Wizarding World knew nothing about Alchemy despite it being the subject taught.

And it was when he flipped to a certain inset on the oldest newspaper he had with him, that he saw the picture that he needed to see.

The scene of the crime and the design on the ground—_animal transmutation._

But Roy knew; it couldn't have been Edward. The reaction could have been called wishful thinking, since the Elric obviously reacted the worst to Tucker's chimeras, but Roy could see very clearly that Edward Elric did not draw the circle under the girl's feet. No State Alchemist (or former) would have drawn an array so unprofessional and so obviously unbalanced.

Heck, Roy'd even been impressed by the human transmutation array the blond used when he was _eleven_.

Roy cast a new Searching Charm, this time for 'Hogwarts Alchemy Professor' to determine the time of arrival. The new string of keywords would definitely lead him to articles that were relevant, and ones he could actually understand.

He never expected the ball of light to float near the back of the paper he'd received that very morning. Flipping it open, he found himself in the classifieds, facing a job advert that exactly suited his needs.

_Hogwarts: Alchemy Professor_

_Half year; minimal teaching hours.  
Food and board provided for stay._

_Contact: Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress._

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**Part One: End.**

* * *

**A/N: **I can just hear all of the groans at how evil I am. I'm sorry! (but dramadramadrama!) Part Two, understandably, is called _The King_. Stay tuned!

Now about the contest. Basically, you do anything related to Immiscibility, and the winner receives the story **printed as a book** and **the ending before anyone else reads it**. (Because the deadline for the thing will be earlier than the date it will be published on FFN, even with weekly updates.)

Interested? Visit http:/ / goo. gl/OQVbZ (remove the spaces).

See you next week!

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	21. Interlude: Alphonse Elric

**A/N: **I...I'll say everything in the Author's Note in the end. It's not really appropriate up here.

Part One, stats:  
Words: 46 476  
Chapters: 20  
Reviews: 348  
Hits: 37 992  
C2s: 5  
Favs: 140  
Alerts: 244

I thought you might like to see what's going on back in Amestris. :)

* * *

**Immisibility****  
**_by NyghthawK_

**Interlude: Alphonse Elric**

Alphonse was worried. Very, very worried. His brother had gone missing, his last phone call to Winry and sensei made exactly three months, two weeks and six days ago.

That was why Al found himself in the Xing capital.

Well, actually, he'd wanted to go to Creta, the country Ed reported himself in last. But he knew his brother and knew just how quickly he could travel from one place to another when he wanted to.

Al sighed for the umpteenth time, guilt washing over him yet again. His brother was so selfless, insisting on him continuing training with sensei where it was safe whilst he went out alone. And it was all his fault—! Ed only went along the wild goose chase of leads and dead ends to try and restore _his_ memories...

But he knew, that if their roles were reversed, that he would do the same thing. Even so, that didn't stop the tiny voice in the corner of his mind rampaging about how _selfish_ Ed was being: just because Al was twelve now, just because Al couldn't remember their travels, it didn't mean that they couldn't travel together again!

So the only way he would have been able to find his brother would have been by tracing the path he went along.

_Luckily_, Al mused as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a rather worn piece of paper, _General Mustang was nice enough to copy the list of places they'd tracked brother going along._

After all, despite his attention-grabbing attire, Edward Elric was _very_ good at hiding when he needed to be hidden.

Al looked around. He'd been fortunate to cross the desert with the Amestrian convoy, since he wouldn't have been able to make heads nor tails of the strange, foreign streets around him. The smell of spices assaulted his nose, and the heat from some of the side vendors had him edge a little further towards the road. It was almost as if every corner and every road came from another world!

(Al honestly suspected that the convoy dropped him off in the tourist district because they assumed he was the General's friend who wanted a holiday sightseeing in Long Tian City.)

He glanced down to check where he wanted to go.

_The Imperial Palace, Long Tian, Xing_, his little note sheet said, under _Liar's Palace, Silovsk, Drachma_ and _West River Bay, Muiden, Drachma-Aerugo border_.

Alphonse then looked around and began to head on his way. But without warning, he found his arms jerked behind him and cuffed, and several soldiers swarming around him.

"You are under arrest!" One of them said in choppy Amestrian. He turned to his comrades and changed to their native Xingese, but thanks to the Gate's knowledge Al could still understand him. "Take him to the palace; His Majesty would like to see him."

* * *

It turned out that everything had been a misunderstanding.

The soldiers had wrestled him to the Imperial Palace, a huge network of red buildings built in the traditional Xing style. Each building was connected by a bridge frail by Amestrian standards, but sturdy in geometrical structure. Alphonse rarely considered infrastructure beautiful, but the way the palace was built into the garden it almost seemed like a part of nature.

Once they'd entered the Lotus Sitting Room, the Emperor had frowned and inspected Al's face far closer than what was comfortable.

"No, you aren't the shorty," the Emperor muttered.

Al couldn't help himself. "Shorty?"

"Yunno," the Emperor said, and it was then that Al noticed how young the man was despite the long, black ponytail and the golden robes. "Blond, red coat, this tall—" and here he mimed someone at chest-height, "—springy antenna...what was his name? Ec...El..."

"You know my brother?" Al blurted, then corrected himself. "Edward Elric?"

The Emperor nodded lazily. He tapped one foot against the ground and crossed his arms. "Yeah, yeah. Your brother, you say?"

"Yes—um, sir."

Suddenly the Emperor was all smiles. "Brilliant! How wonderful; would you like some tea?"

"Erm..."

"Yes?" Then the Emperor noticed exactly what Al was referring to, and frowned. He switched to Xingese. "Why have you chained him?"

"Your orders were for us to bring him here, sir!"

The Emperor's frown darkened, and Al found it hard to apply the previously easygoing attitude he'd shown from earlier. The soldiers also seemed to share the same idea, and the lead gestured twice. That action hadn't been necessary, as the other soldiers had moved forward to undo his binds. Then, they all excused themselves and left.

Hands finally free, Al shook them out and bowed. "Thank you, sir."

"No worries, no worries!" The Emperor waved lazily. "Any Elric is a friend of mine. Actually, I haven't caught your name."

"Al—Alphonse, sir."

The Emperor gave another nod. "I am Ling. What brings you here?"

Now that he wasn't chained, Al finally noticed how young the Emperor seemed to be. The typical black Xingese hair and sharpened eyes were to be expected, but despite the other's height he couldn't have been any older than twenty—maybe twenty-five.

"I'm looking for my brother, sir." Al said. "Edward Elric. He went missing about three and a half months ago, so I'm tracing his path."

Ling just nodded during the explanation. "Right, right."

"Do you have any clues?" Al asked, hopeful.

"Hmm..."

The Emperor trailed off and spent the next few moments thinking, before:

"Nope!"

Al sighed. "Oh." Then he paused. "How do you know my brother, sir?"

A very, _very_ slow smile stretched across Ling's features. "Let's just say he helped me quite a bit when he was here."

That was _definitely_ not how the Emperor had been acting only a few moments ago.

Unaware of Al's growing discomfort, Ling continued. "Do you have a place to stay, little Elric?"

"N-no..." _And call me Al_, he wanted to add, but was unsure if he could.

"I'll have the guest quarters ready for you as well, then. You know, when your brother was here, he spent some time with our greatest fighters learning how to properly use a spear. He also spent quite a bit of time meeting with our _rentanjutsu_ masters as well. Would you like both of these services?"

"O-okay." _What did you do, brother, to make him so nice to me?_

Ling clapped. "That's settled! Lei, come here and escort our guest to his room."

A small, young woman appeared from her hiding place behind a screen. She hurried to Al's side and bowed.

"I am Lei Ning," she greeted. "Welcome to the Imperial Palace."

Al couldn't help but wonder just _what_ he got himself into.

* * *

The original plan had been something along the lines of spending a week in Xing, the time the previous Amestrian convoy had to leave. During that week, Al would meet with everyone his brother had met, and ask about their previous conversations. But Ling kept insisting on showering him with honours and extending his stay.

By the time Al remembered he needed to leave, two and a half weeks had already passed.

Ling almost didn't want him to go. Al only knew this was because of his brother's last visit, but no matter who he asked he didn't get any answers. (A part of him really, really hoped it hadn't been anything too..._explosive_.)

But finally—finally, he managed to leave; all with the thanks of Izumi speaking to the Emperor personally over the phone. Apparently, sensei knew Ling as well for some odd reason, and Ling had been too quick in helping Al make arrangements for his journey.

Al...just knew not to question anything in Xing any further. Nobody gave him answers anyway.

But things hadn't exactly gone to plan once he'd left, either. Why?

Bandits.

"You! Cough up everything you got and we'll spare 'ya!" One of them growled.

Al sighed. "Please let me go."

Instead of quelling them, as Al had hoped, the second bandit next to the one who had spoken just snarled and pulled out a gun. "Pass it over or I'll shoot."

Guns were always tricky things when it came to alchemists. Their firing speed could usually trump the speed of an alchemical equation.

Al mentally took stock of everything around him, the way Izumi trained him. Each rock's iron was a potential weapon, and each clump of dirt was a potential wall. If only, he mused, he had some ability to harness the air like General Mustang. Air was everywhere, so their attacks were instantaneous.

He'd just decided on his next move when a long, shrill shriek cut through the air. With his hands clapped together and his body channelling a transmutation circle, he couldn't press his hands to his ears in time.

But the bandits did.

They dropped their weapons and held their head to try and block out the sound. Where Al found himself dizzy and temporarily deaf, though the sound level receded from him before it receded from the bandits, they were busy trying to block out every last bit.

That was why most of them missed the kicks and punches heading in their direction, quickly falling unconscious.

Al had just deactivated the circle when a shadow fell over him, and he looked up to see a woman in a trench coat standing there with a frown. As she was against the sun, it was particularly hard to discern any feature except for the short, trimmed hair.

Her mouth moved.

"I'm sorry!" Al shouted. "I can't hear you!"

Her frown lightened, but it might have just been Al's imagination. Then she held out her whistle towards him, a whistle engraved with a delicate formation of arrays, and searched inside one of her pockets.

The silver watch she held up explained more than everything else combined.

"_Alphonse Elric,_" she mouthed slowly. "_You're looking for Edward Elric._"

He nodded.

"_I am looking for him, also. Will you accept my assistance?_"

* * *

**A/N:** There's a lot of things to say...

First, I'm really, really ill. It's most likely due to stress, so I have to cut back on the things I do. So I'm cutting back on Immiscibility. I need to take a break to plan the order of events in the next part anyway, but I don't think I can continue with weekly updates.

Second, is there anyone who actually wants to join the contest? Seriously, I've got no clue. If nobody wants to join, I'll just return the CreateSpace offer back to Alex. (If there are people who want to join...then, well, that means I have to rush and finish writing Immiscibility asap.)

I'm going to wait a week for responses; if there aren't any/enough, I'm cancelling the contest and getting some sleep.

Sorry for everything, everyone! ^^;;

— Nyght


	22. Chapter 21: Shuffle

**A/N:** Hey, all! It's been a while...I have lots of good news and a little bit of bad news to give you guys.

The good news is that I've finished planning this story. It'll be around ~35 chapters or so. Yes, this means I'm writing again, and I'm not too sick now :D (I'm also trying to get around to replying to **everyone** again, so that'll start properly from this chapter 'cause I kinda deleted some of the emails. Sorry!)

The bad news is that I'm not sure if I can update weekly again, but fingers crossed! :)

Also, about the competition, it'll continue. I've extended it by two weeks.

Onward!

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**P A R T ﾠ ****T W O**

**「 The King 」**

－

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**Immiscibility  
**_by NyghthawK_

**Chapter 21: Shuffle**

"As you have all probably heard, the former Alchemy Professor is unable to teach for the remainder of the school year due to an incident on the twenty-second of December."

Some hushed murmurs rippled amongst those in the school. Roy watched without speaking as Minerva raised a hand to silence them all, and continued her speech.

"I would like to introduce the new, replacement professor who will be teaching in his stead. Professor Mustang."

Roy stood, on his cue. He wasn't particularly worried about being called out as Royston Mugford. Before he'd left for the interview with the headmistress, he'd cast some spells to change the features of a face that people normally used for recognition. Thus, his different jaw line and his slightly altered nose should have been enough to divert attention. But just in case, he'd adjusted his ears the smallest amount and changed the correlation between his eyes and his brow. They were all minute changes, but they made enough of a difference.

That wouldn't be enough to soothe him, were it not for his belief that not many people knew of the competitive side of wizarding duelling. Some Quidditch thing involving bats and balls normally took the first few pages in the newspaper; the duelling section was slim.

"Professor Mustang," Minerva continued, "will be carrying on the Alchemy classes as per their usual schedule. There are no room changes at this time. On that note, I hope you all had a pleasant holiday. Dismissed."

With those words, she swept out through the side door at once. In contrast, the student body chose to take their time as they filed outside. None of their classes would start again until the next day, so they had their free time to chat and do whatever.

"Excuse me, Mister Mustang, sir?"

Roy turned, but couldn't see anyone there.

"Down here, sir," the same voice chirped again.

Finally determining the source of the noise, Roy looked down. There, standing next to him, was a strange little creature with large ears wearing nothing but a floral tea towel. He wasn't too sure what it was, but he'd only skimmed the books on magical beings anyway.

Since none of the remaining people in the Hall reacted strangely to the creature, Roy kept his face in an impassive mask. "You are?"

The creature bowed. "I'm Nixy," it said, voice tinged with feminine accents — a female, then. Probably. "The Headmistress asked for me to escort you to your rooms, sir."

Roy nodded; Minerva had mentioned something about an escort.

Nixy bowed again. "If sir would follow me?"

Standing up, Roy followed the creature as she began heading out the side door the Headmistress had gone through moments before. Not even five corners later, he came to the conclusion that it would be a while before he could travel in the castle with the same confidence Nixy possessed, despite all his attempts to remember.

"We will be going to your classroom first, sir," she told him, then hurriedly added: "If you don't mind, sir, that is."

"It's fine," Roy said. "May I ask what you are, Nixy?"

Nixy almost jumped three feet in her surprise. "Sir does not have to ask permission, sir. Why, Nixy is a house elf."

"I see." Actually, he didn't see anything, but he turned up his charm. "Could you tell me about yourself?"

She flushed. "N-Nixy is just a house elf, good sir. She does as any house elf should do; Nixy helps prepare the feasts and she cleans the castle. But..."

"But?" He prompted.

"But Nixy thinks...Nixy thinks that Dobby should not be a house elf, sir."

"Dobby?"

Her steps faltered in her hesitation, but she continued as they went up the next flight of stairs. "Dobby is a shame for all house elves, sir. He refuses to work as house elves should, and even collects clothes as if he wants freedom. They even say," and here her voice lowered to a whisper, "that he is being paid for his work at Hogwarts!" She paused. "I hope sir does not meet him, for sir won't be pleased."

Roy's first response was to say 'Why?', but he remained silent as he took all of this new information in. House elves did all the work; he never would have guessed. To deter any suspicion, he smoothly continued the conversation without needing to think. "I understand. Nixy, do you know what the professor before me taught?"

"Alchemy, sir." She sounded confused.

"Ah, I'm sorry. I should have elaborated. Do you know any of the content? I'm not too sure where the class is at since I only just arrived."

"No, no, that is Nixy's mistake, kind sir! And don't step there, it is a trick step!"

Roy gingerly lunged forward to avoid the step that looked identical to all the others. Once he was safe on the next, he leant back and tapped it slightly to find there was no step at all. Nixy didn't seem to notice, continuing as if it were an everyday occurrence (it probably was).

"Nixy does not know what Mister Elric taught, but Nixy was in charge of cleaning for that room, sir. Mister Elric did not like his things being touched or thrown away, so Nixy had the other elves put everything in another room. Maybe there are some notes you can use there, Mister Mustang."

Better news could not have come from her mouth; Roy needed every last bit of information he could get about the elder Elric. If Edward had been devising any methods to return to Amestris, his notes would be there.

Even as he thought, he didn't stop speaking. "If you don't mind, Nixy, could you please deliver them all to my room?"

"Certainly, sir!"

Nixy's cheerful tone drew a small smile to his own face. The two stopped before an open door, and Roy could make out 'The Three Rules' scrawled across a blackboard in Edward's distinctive handwriting.

She bowed and gestured to the room, somehow all in one single movement. "This is the Alchemy classroom, sir. For future reference, it is on the sixth floor. Now, Nixy will escort you to your room."

* * *

Minerva liked to give categories to all the people she met. It helped keep her organized, and there were few that couldn't be sorted. Dumbledore had been one of these, though he'd been filed away under 'genius' and 'respect' after initial impressions. Edward Elric had taken longer to fit in. He'd started as 'Dumbledore's doing' before eventually landing in 'genius', then being applied to 'unstable: do not let children nearby'. But despite all the jumping, it hadn't been too difficult to begin with.

But she could not decide whether Roy Mustang was humble, infuriating, far too charming for his own good or someone to keep an eye out for.

During the interviewing process, he'd been all of them. When they'd met at The Leaky Cauldron, she'd thought of Lockhart at once, filing him under 'charmer' and 'airhead' as he smiled and introduced himself. It hadn't taken more than two minutes before 'airhead' went flying out the window to know that Mustang knew what he was doing and knew what he was teaching. But strangely, he'd constantly downplayed his skills whilst firming his position as being capable to teach all at the same time.

Even though she knew next to nothing about alchemy, a skilled practitioner always carried a certain vibe and she felt it whenever he spoke.

There was no doubt there would be a sudden shift in teaching styles, considering the distinct differences between Elric and Mustang. The most obvious of these were Elric's muggle status and Mustang's spellcasting competency. She was sure of a similarity, though, and that lay within their ulterior motives; Edward's was obvious, since he wanted to use the library. Mustang seemed completely genuine — _too_ genuine — and he deflected the questions so well there was no way to get an answer short of demanding one and making a scene.

Even to a blind man, it was clear something else was going on. But left with no choice, she'd hired him anyway. It would be alright; if he were up to something sinister, there would be no chance for him to escape considering Hogwarts' Anti-Apparation wards. She'd known she would also have to make sure he was under watch; it would not be difficult. At least he wasn't anyone notable under the Dark Lord's control, since she had him roll up his left sleeve.

(Elric's transfiguring stint, she told herself, was only because he had been given too much freedom. Though she'd initially liked the boy, there was nothing more to his misdeed.)

In the end, she gave up on categorizing him for the time being and tossed her imaginary Roy Mustang into an 'undecided, potentially suspicious' folder. That was when there were a few knocks on her door, before it opened with a flick of her wand to allow Rolanda Hooch in.

"Horrible, isn't it?" She asked as she stepped into the office, raising her eyebrows. "You seen the latest Prophet?"

Spotting it on her desk, Minerva banished it in Rolanda's direction. Rolanda caught it with the practiced ease of a Chaser. The Quidditch instructor unfurled it and flipped to the second page before walking over and putting it back.

She then sat down and tapped an article. "This one."

Minerva glanced down to see which was being referred; she'd read it, of course. "Charity shouldn't have showed up for Elric's trial."

Sure enough, the headline said, '_No Charity for Blood Traitors_', with the morbid catchiness Rita Skeeter was famous for.

"The Prophet's gone to the Dark," Rolanda sighed. "Which probably means the Ministry's long been taken over, since they control the Prophet to begin with. I knew Charity hadn't appeared this school year because she knew You-Know-Who would mark her as a target, but I didn't think she was that stupid."

"Charity works at a muggle hospital whenever she is free," Minerva said. "I have reasons to believe she had treated Elric there at the time."

The Order, of course.

"It would have been alright if she just appeared to see what happened, but she had to open her mouth and attract attention. She'd probably still be in hiding," Rolanda added. Then she sighed again and shook her head. "But that's not what I came here to talk about."

"What is it?"

"You know me, and I can see that Roy is slippery."

Minerva did, and she also knew where Rolanda was heading. "I hired him because I had to. Hogwarts needs him to teach this alchemy so our students can defend themselves; the Ministry have us wrapped in so many restrictions we can no longer teach, but they know nothing about that subject."

"No, no, you're not following me. When I say he's slippery, I mean he's _slippery_. This is more than a three mile eel we've got here, Minerva. Trust me on this; I'm concerned."

Rolanda had always been a good judge of character. Even so, Minerva shook her head. "It's fine. Everything is under control."

Rolanda stayed silent for a while. She didn't move, only sat there staring Minerva in the eyes. Minerva stared back; everything _was_ fine, despite her own suspicions about the man. Therein lay the root of her difficulty categorizing him; she didn't know how to put into words exactly why she did the things she did.

Finally, as if seeing what she wanted to see, Rolanda leant back in the chair. A moment later, she grinned like the cat with the cream. "It's not because you like him?"

Minerva knew her friend long enough to know it was unrelated to any earlier discussion. She also knew the best way to react to her best friend's teasing. That was why Rolanda found herself ushered out of the office because of unfinished test marking to do.

Once gone, Minerva allowed herself to sigh. No, it was certainly not romance, especially not with the age difference between them. She knew _herself_ well enough to determine that. But the unexplainable reason still remained, and she probably wasn't going to get some answers soon.

But...why did she feel like she'd _known_ him somehow?

* * *

**A/N: **I'm not too sure how I feel about this chapter, considering how long I spent thinking about it and wanting to write it. But it will do.

And if you think I'm running out of plot twists...there's one more. One more big one, coming up soon ^^

**Next chapter:** Count the Cards


	23. Chapter 22: Count the Cards

**A/N:** I'm...starting to severely drift away from fanfiction lately. My email update backlog is in the hundreds, haha, but I'll definitely finish this story! Definitely! But honestly, I've anticipated these chapters for so long that I don't think they're coming out the way I wanted them too. :S

Thanks for all the reviews, you awesome, awesome people, but I couldn't reply to everyone since FF changed the review system; if you've chosen to disable PMs, I can't reply. Anyway, don't forget that the contest is still on~

* * *

**Immiscibility  
**_by NyghthawK_

**Chapter 22: Count the Cards**

Harry sighed, and spooned another bit of egg onto his toast as he retreated to the thoughts that had been plaguing him for days.

Though Professor—ex-Professor Elric's teaching methods weren't exactly conventional, there was no denying his expertise in Alchemy. Term had only just begun for two days, but it wasn't a hidden fact that all the Hogwarts residents were still evidently shocked at such a misuse of power.

Harry still couldn't believe it. He'd even told Ron and Hermione that Elric wasn't to be trusted, and would only make sure the man hadn't been planning to make a stone. And he'd been just about convinced when he went to visit him as well. He never would have imagined that Elric wanted to make...whatever he made. (Chimera, was it?) To add more insult to injury, he'd even been in the castle when it had occurred!

But as he took time to think about it, he should have known. Elric only had the one lesson per week to teach in. Nobody knew what he did outside of that lesson, though he always allowed students to go to his office outside of class.

Harry cursed; he should have been more alert. He should have gone and properly investigated him even if Hermione had second thoughts. He'd only been keeping an eye out for the Defence position, what with Quirrell, Impostor Moody and Snape being responsible for most of the trouble in the past. But, he remembered, Snape had been the Potions Master for years before he killed Dumbledore. Completely unrelated to DADA.

With Alchemy, a subject supposedly long-dead, why hadn't he bothered to check up on Elric's background?

Harry was interrupted when something nick the back of his head, and he turned around to see Lavender and a Ravenclaw friend of hers walking away. The Ravenclaw's — Rose-something...Roseanne? — large stack of books were what evidently hit him. Neither of the two girls seemed to notice, though, as they were speaking in hushed whispers. But when Lavender pointed to Professor Mustang's empty seat on the Head Table, Harry realized it was actually one of the fourth-year Gryffindors instead.

The two giggled, and Harry shrugged before turning back to his breakfast.

Beside him, Ron scowled into his pumpkin juice. "That guy—"

He didn't get any further, as across from them Hermione dropped her spoon and shot up in her seat.

"Oh, I forgot!" She quickly packed the notes around her into her bag. The three of them had a Charms class in two periods, and she was betting on there being a surprise quiz. "You guys go ahead."

Before Harry managed to form a coherent sentence, Ron got there first. Except what came out happened to be a strange mumble, since he still had food in his mouth.

Hermione did get the message of _'why_', and answered with a frown. "The other day I heard Professor Mustang say he didn't know what Elric had been teaching, so I'm going to give him a copy of my notes."

She left the Hall, leaving the two no time to reply. Ron groaned.

"Doesn't that guy annoy you?" he asked.

"Who?"

"_Professor_ Mustang."

"Um," Harry hadn't expected that. "No?"

Ron just spun around to the Ravenclaw Table. Seeing the cue, Harry followed his line of sight to see Cho Chang in conversation with her friend, and the two girls glanced to Professor Mustang's seat as well.

Harry turned back again.

"Maybe," he amended. Ron continued simmering beside him, so he tried to change the subject. "I wonder how he'll teach?"

He received a muttered 'Don't care', and a strange pause followed. Then, slowly, Ron turned to face him.

"Hey, mate," he began, "the reason why we've got Alchemy classes this year is because it's a rare subject, right?"

Harry nodded. That was what Hermione'd said.

"I know McGonagall put in that ad in the Daily Prophet," Ron added, "but isn't it weird that this Mustang bloke appeared so quickly?"

"Now that you mention it—"

The bell rang, so he never finished. The food disappeared off the plates, thwarting Dean's attempt to pour some milk somewhere down the table, and Harry hurriedly pulled on his bag.

He and Ron split paths once outside the Hall; Harry to Potions and Ron to whatever lesson he'd had. But even without his best friend, Harry knew that Slughorn wouldn't have his full attention during class. Ron's insight had been right, and he never would have seen it since he was too busy thinking about Elric.

Professor Mustang would be something for him to think on for the rest of the day.

* * *

Harry never had an opportunity to discuss Professor Mustang with both Ron and Hermione by the time Saturday rolled by. Each of them were always too busy, with not only surprise quizzes but far too many essays to complete and spells to master. To top it off, he'd never really finished his holiday work even with Hermione over his shoulder. Thus, he spent a night cramming ten inches on the process of reversing mammal to inanimate transfiguration and a fourteen inch summary on the theoretical application of defensive jinxes and their incantations during battle. Gone were the days when he could look over his friends' work for things to add; Harry would never know how the professors could tell between copying sentences and working together.

To top it all off, he and Ron had accidentally slept in. That left them with only ten minutes between waking up and the start of class, and the two found themselves running to the Alchemy lessons with shirts untucked and out of breath.

Luckily, they made it in their seats just moments before Professor Mustang appeared and closed the door. In a swish of his heavy blue cloak, the man then strode to the front of the room. None of the class spoke, not knowing what to expect with Mustang's stiff-backed stance, so the only sound in those few seconds were the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of the muggle combat boots that would peek through every now and then beneath his robes.

When he spoke, his voice was similar to Elric's in that it demanded attention, but where Elric's words were brash, Mustang's were commanding.

"According to Miss Granger's notes, you have mastered drawing the basic shapes of an array, and learnt how to change the state of water. In the last lesson, you were given the basic carbon transmutation circle and began creating models. Is this correct?"

There were a few murmurs of assent, but a lot of nods. Elric encouraged people to speak out, but nobody was sure what Mustang would do.

"I see," he continued. "While that is a perfectly reasonable method of teaching, you all seem to be lacking in the knowledge from theory."

Harry mentally groaned. With DADA being nothing but theory, he'd looked forward to Alchemy classes because of their practical nature.

"Sir?" Carmichael prompted, raising a hand.

Mustang glanced in his direction. "Yes?" Harry hadn't realized it before, but the professor didn't point because both of his hands had been in his pockets since the lesson began.

"Professor Elric did teach us theory, but in the form of practical application."

"That is correct," Mustang replied. "However, there are some forms of Alchemy that would be _impractical_ for you to practice, and thus need to be taught in a purely theory-based form."

Carmichael's furrowed his brow. "Professor Elric never intended to teach us anything regarding his three rules, sir. I doubt any form of Alchemy can be any more dangerous than what we encounter other classes, even our less _conventional_ ones." Here Harry heard the subtext of Hagrid and Care of Magical Creatures, and bit back his reaction. "Thus, it should be reasonable to continue teaching in a practical manner."

For a moment, Mustang paused and seemed to consider something. "Mister...?"

"Carmichael."

Mustang pulled his right hand out of his pocket, and Harry was surprised to see a white glove and a wand. Elric had been a muggle, and as for the glove, he could only make out something red on the back. Mustang turned around to the desk and waved his wand, summoning a sheath of papers to him.

He placed his wand down and flipped through them. Once satisfied, he turned to the class again and left his wand on the table.

"Michael Carmichael," he said. "Seventh-year Ravenclaw, accomplished drawing the basic transmutation circle within eight days. Tell me, what do you know about alchemy?"

"Alchemy is a process that consists of changing an object's state through three steps: analysis, deconstruction, construction," Carmichael recited. "It can add or remove energy from water to change its state from solid, liquid and gas, or gather and reform carbon."

Mustang raised an eyebrow. "I see, the Ravenclaw intelligence. But I'm not surprised that you're rather narrow-minded. Let me demonstrate something for you. You," he flicked his head in the direction of someone seated in the back. "What is your name?"

"Yvonne Wesbridge, sir," she replied.

"Is what you're writing relevant to this lesson, Miss Wesbridge?" When she hesitated, a sure sign of guilt for any student, Mustang continued. "Please answer honestly."

She shook her head.

"Then," Mustang said, "I will show you some alchemy."

Harry didn't know what to expect. Yvonne sat at the very back of the room, whilst Mustang was in the front. Unless he was about to perform something distance traversing like Elric's spikes back in the Order, Harry had no idea. But somehow he knew that there wouldn't be any spikes — they probably fell under the category of 'narrow-minded'.

Mustang lifted his arm, and snapped his fingers.

There was no time for Harry to even flinch when a huge arc of fire flew past his head. When he was still trying to comprehend that the heat had been _real_, he spun around to see its destination. First he saw Yvonne's shocked expression, and then the smoky pile of ashes that had once been the slip of parchment falling from her hands.

"That, Mister Carmichael, is alchemy." Though Mustang's tone was still mainly unchanged, there was a hint of humour in the words. "Unlike Elric, I specialize in fire-based Alchemy. It is extremely dangerous and a practitioner would usually require at least three years of study before even demonstrating in front of a crowd."

He stepped behind the desk and opened a drawer, before taking out a stick of chalk and heading for the blackboard.

"Quills out, class. This is our lesson for today."

* * *

**A/N:** Part Two of "The Golden Trio are individual people". Hermione's too busy and Harry spends all his time reflecting on the past that neither of them would have said Roy was suspicious. Ron doesn't have parts too large in the stories, but the parts he does have are very important ^^

On another note, have you ever thought about how J. K. Rowling doesn't mention much about homework stress in the series?

**Next chapter: **Stack the Deck


	24. Chapter 23: Stack the Deck

**A/N: **First, I'm cancelling the competition. There's no way I'm going to finish this story in time.

Again, thanks for the reviews and support and feedback! ^^ I really don't have much else to say for this chapter, except that it ends the card-themed titles :)

* * *

**Immiscibility  
**_by NyghthawK_

**Chapter 23: Stack the Deck**

His first lesson, Roy thought, wasn't too bad. All things considered, of course. Edward hadn't been a terrible enough teacher, though his methods lacked considerably in the theory department. That wasn't too surprising, considering the blonde's impatience for everything in the world.

Roy was pretty confident he could make sure the students knew how and _why_ their transmutations were being performed, though. And even though fire was his specialty, no self-respecting alchemist could know nothing about carbon and water manipulation. Those were the most basic of the basics!

...Which, also, made a pretty good negative case for the Elric's teaching methods. But that was irrelevant. So long as Roy had the means for figuring out how to open the Gate without creating too many consequences, teaching one class per week would not be too much to sacrifice.

Roy sighed as he moved the piece of parchment in his hands into the pile on his right. More bored, nonsensical arrays that had no chance of working, this time an attempt to create a torch just by applying it to a piece of wood. Though possible, it was far too unstable, and required such a ridiculous amount of mental control to avoid it blowing up in one's face that the long way around would be easier. But still, he thanked Nixy the house elf for following through with her offer.

It turned out that there were so many papers that had once belonged to Edward that it had taken him three whole hours to look through everything, and sort it into groups. Sparing the trash one last glance, he snapped his fingers and it disappeared in a blaze.

He sighed and reached for the wand, before vanishing the ashes to whoever knew where. Though it really wouldn't make a difference in such a magically imbued castle, the level of magic in his room constantly seemed lower compared to everywhere else and he needed to restore it. It was probably Edward's fault, since the room had once been his after all, but Roy couldn't bring himself to care.

Now, the papers that did matter. The coded ones he'd probably never figure out fast enough, so he'd leave them until he absolutely needed them. The miscellaneous doodles were hopefully all thrown away, including that strange one that consisted of a series of numbers and mathematical calculations. (The sketched drawing next to them looked somewhat like a series of Xingese seams, and Roy had stared at the transmutation circle hurriedly penned down on the side before letting it join the rest of the trash.)

As he'd been forced through the Gate without warning, he hadn't been able to grab the transmutation circle he used. He'd also been too busy to memorise it, spending the better part of the last two years securing his position as General and peeking at the array on the side, so he wouldn't be able to duplicate it for his own use. But Edward had done plenty of sketches, including a few with altered variables and even one with the less stable six point hexagon compared to the seven point heptagon.

Roy figured himself to be fortunate, and just placed them in his folder. Nobody knew, but he liked folders. They subdued Riza, because it looked like he was doing work, and they made him feel and act more organized.

Some of the other papers made their way to his folders as well, until he'd run out. Then he reached for the stack of newspapers he'd brought with him, and set about clipping out all the articles related to the younger Elric. He honestly doubted they would be useful, since seventy percent of the time they called transmutation as 'transfiguration' instead, but they did hide important snippets of information.

The circle used during the animal transmutation he kept near the front, beside an interview saying that Edward had been hugging the chimera when it had died. Were it not for him bothering to comb the papers from front to back, he wouldn't have known. After all, the photograph of the crime scene was only taken _after_ the Magical Law Enforcement had stepped in to remove the bodies.

Roy sighed. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was the largest department at the Ministry of Magic. And again, this 'Ministry'. It was absolutely impossible to think it wasn't the major governing body of the Magical World. But Roy could sense the corruption and misuse of power even though he'd only been there for a few weeks. Perhaps his heightened awareness came from his own position in Amestris' political stage, or a result of printed inconsistencies in attacks related to 'Death Eaters' and 'You-Know-Who' in the newspapers he'd poured over, but there was no doubting that the Daily Prophet was affiliated with them.

How did he know this? Simple — in every issue, it said so in the corner: 'Printed and provided with the full approval of the Ministry of Magic'.

Azkaban, the prison Edward had been sentenced too, was also quite easy to get information on. He hadn't even spent an hour in the library the other day, and already found four books on the subject. He also learnt that it was guarded by Dementors, creatures he hadn't yet taken the time to research but supposedly removed a person's soul. Roy hadn't been surprised about the mass jailbreak, but it complicated the issue. His first plan had just been to go to the school and teach in order to pretend he was one of their kind. It also came with the benefit of the library and possible clues Edward may have left behind. Once he established his position as a respectable citizen after a month or so, he would have enough positive reputation to visit the Elric in Azkaban. Unfortunately, the escape meant that the plan was void, and that he no longer knew where Edward could be hiding.

That, he hoped, was where Plan B came in.

* * *

Harry gingerly snuck around the next corner, Ron following close behind. A glance back told him that Hermione decided to wait in the corridor to keep watch instead of following them. That was fine.

"Alohomora," he whispered once he reached the door.

To their surprise, it opened in one fluid motion, and the two boys crept inside. It hadn't been easy to get to this point, especially because of Hermione's stubbornness, but Harry finally breached the conversation he'd been waiting forever to start.

"Hermione, he's really suspicious," he'd said two days ago.

Hermione had given him her _'don't be stupid'_ look, trademarked over the past five years. "Harry, just because he replaced Professor Elric so quickly does not give you the right to say he's suspicious."

"You said it yourself. Alchemy's a really rare art!" Harry shot back.

"So? Professor Mustang's probably part of the same group Professor Elric had been part of, and once he heard about Elric's actions he applied so he could finish our education!"

"How would you know that?"

"Isn't it obvious?" She asked in reply, and then elaborated. "The way he talked about Elric last lesson was like he knew him. People with interests in the same thing tend to group together, especially if it's something uncommon. I don't know, like Alchemy?"

Ron, unfortunately, had taken that opportunity to add his two cents. "You're just saying that because you like him."

A faint flush appeared on her cheeks. "I do not! He's just as much of a genius at Alchemy as Elric was, even though they specialise in different fields, and he makes for good conversation."

Ron grumbled something under his breath, but Hermione picked it up anyway. "You've never even _talked_ to him, Ronald! I've seen—"

She stopped and fell silent for a few seconds, eyes flickering whilst she chewed her lower lip.

"Come on, Hermione," Harry said, "we're not going to do anything stupi—"

"Fine," she cut in. "I'll come with you this time, but I'll tell you now that searching his room won't have any use because I've been inside. He's not hiding a secret, so you won't find anything."

Then their perfect opportunity came. It had been during lunch when the announcement for all teachers to attend a meeting in the staff common room sounded across the school. The three had watched Mustang get up from his seat and leave the hall.

Harry pulled himself back to the present when Ron closed the door. He wasn't too worried - Hermione had told them before that there were no moving paintings in the room that could possibly alert Mustang to their presence, and he had his cloak in his bag. Staff meetings were also notorious for taking a long time, so they had at least twenty minutes before they had a chance of being discovered.

He felt Ron tap his shoulder, and turned around. _"You won't find anything,_" Hermione had said.

If only she were with them now.

To the back of the room, the private quarters in which Mustang slept, a large board had been put up against the wall. Across it were a series of maps — one of the world, Europe, the British Isles and another series of drawn diagrams Harry couldn't recognise. (Xing?) Several pins — _muggle_ stationary pins — had been tacked onto the maps, and their arrangement suggested some kind of colour code he couldn't identify.

The sound of moving papers made him jump, but Ron's whisper soothed him. "Blimey—hey Harry, come look at this."

Ignoring the part of him that kept challenging why he was snooping around Mustang's room, Harry approached the desk. Ron had found an unmarked manila folder (_muggle, again!_) and opened it, revealing a series of newspaper clippings.

Newspaper clippings that were all about _Edward Elric_.

Ron had spread them apart, and Harry saw several notes scrawled across them in red ink. Some words were circled, some crossed out and corrected in a sense — primarily the word transfiguration to transmutation — and some key points scrawled in the margins. The Prophet's controversial double page spread of the crime scene had many red markings on it, and when he peered closer he could see they were vague descriptions about the array used. There was no time to read any of it, though, because then he noticed the edges of a flow chart peeking out from the gaps of some other papers.

—_scapes Azkaban, 31 Dec; location unkno—_, the paper said, immediately perking Harry's curiosity. But before he could take it out, footsteps sounded from the other side of the door.

"_Professor Mustang!_" He heard Hermione call, the sound of her running growing louder.

"Miss Granger." Mustang's distinct baritone. "Unfortunately, I have an important errand to run—"

Harry never had the time to throw the invisibility cloak over Ron and himself, let alone replace everything into the folder when the door swung open.

Upon seeing them, Mustang stiffened. Briefly, he glanced to Hermione, who was looking at the floor, then turned back to face the two. There was a pregnant pause in which Mustang took everything in, the only change in the tensing of his jaw and the shifting of his fingertips.

Mustang finally spoke.

"Potter. Weasley. I suppose Miss Granger was with you."

In the form of a statement, neither of the others replied.

Mustang paused again, but continued. "I have no doubts about what you have been doing, and such blatant disrespect for my privacy cannot be excused. Mister Potter, Mister Weasley, I expect a fourteen inch report detailing everything you have learnt under your former Alchemy professor. Miss Granger, you will serve detention with me until the two reports are completed."

From behind Mustang, Hermione's eyes widened when she took in the room. Mustang never saw, because he'd already turned back to Harry and Ron.

"Next time," he said, "if you wish to talk to me, at least do it face-to-face. Now leave."

* * *

**A/N:** As always, I'd love to hear your reactions and feedback! :D

**Next chapter: **Transmutation


	25. Chapter 24: Transmutation

**A/N:** Sorry, so sorry! Writer's block, so many things, so many many things have come up, which all contributed to the delay. Massive, massive love goes to all of my reviewers - I tried to reply to all of them, I really did, but it gets really tiring, so I'm sorry!

Anyway, I've been working toward this chapter for a while. It's kind of...off, eck, but like chapter 22 it's not going to change. My interpretation of Azkaban is actually wrong, just so you know. A few chapters back I wrote it as being under the Ministry (and thus, Ed's wall-breaking would have brought _everything_ down) so that's just a terrible oversight on my part.

This chapter title is the counterpart to Part One's 'Alchemy', and refers to the actual changing process. And in it, you find out Umbridge's _real_ role in this story. No, it wasn't the trial - that only made up 35% of why. :)

* * *

**Immiscibility  
**_by NyghthawK_

**Chapter 24: Transmutation**

Plan B, for Roy Mustang, comprised heavily upon his charm and good wit. Establishing the base hadn't been anything he was unfamiliar with — greetings in the hallways, a few subtle smiles here and there and glances when it seemed as if nobody was looking.

If the Ministry held control and power over everythng, then to get the information he needed he would just need to control the Ministry.

The morning he'd chosen to carry out the plan hadn't been any important morning in terms of date. The only reason it was different from any other morning was because of where he sat for breakfast.

"Excuse me," he said, smiling.

She looked up at him as if it were a rarity that he decided to speak with her, because it was. "Yes?"

"Is there somebody sitting next to you?"

Dolores Umbridge glanced around to the empty seats on both sides. She shifted in her pink cardigan self-consciously. "No, not at all."

Roy smiled and nodded, taking a seat. He added some food to his plate before talking.

"How are your classes going, Miss Umbridge?"

"Please, call me Dolores," she said, voice pitched like a little schoolgirl. "The lessons are going well. What about yours, Mister Mustang?"

Roy smiled - one Havoc marked as the highest on his ladykiller scale. "Roy, please. And as for my classes, well..." he paused, "the former professor wasn't too good with ensuring a fundamental theoretical base."

"I have the same problem," Umbridge said. "It's _terribly_ difficult to get ideas of play, play and play out of the children's heads. I find that special enforcement can do wonders."

"Thanks for the suggestion. I'll keep that in mind."

Roy made to return to his food, but he hesitated. He glanced around, nervous. In the corner of his eye, he saw that Umbridge had in fact noticed his behaviour, but was trying to hide it.

Perfect.

"Dolores... actually," he began, voice low and syllables stilted. "I, ah..."

"Roy? What is it?" Her expression was as concerned as it was fake, overly so.

"Well, you see..." Pause. "No, never mind."

She tried to hide the doubt on her face, changing it to worry. "You know you can tell me anything. I'll keep it a secret."

_So you can use it against me later_, Roy thought, reflexively.

But he knew, because the easiest way to manipulate a person was by making them want to be manipulated. Such as through blackmail, or through love.

The best way to get a woman interested was to make her want him.

And Umbridge was naturally drawn to power.

More specifically, his power as an alchemist. If he showed her a path to getting the power, and seemed as if he needed her help - i.e., he placed himself in her debt and could be manipulated later - she would be willing. All that was left was keeping the careful balance of how much she seemed to manipulate him, whilst ensuring his manipulation of her remained as subtle as possible.

And some people said Roy Mustang was only a pretty boy.

"Why, um," he said, "why do you think I'm at Hogwarts, Dolores?"

He could almost see the gears in her head whirring, as she tried to determine what he was getting at before he got to it; trying to remain one step ahead.

"To teach the students, of course. Why else would you be here, Roy?"

A question to counter his question.

"But... you never thought about how the school replaced the alchemy position so easily?"

Of course she did.

Her face shifted innocently. "Now that you mention it, alchemy isn't very common. Unless," she frowned, "there were a group of people practicing it in secret that the Ministry is not aware of, then..."

Roy glanced away guiltily, looking at all the students, and then glanced back at her. The last vestiges of her expression were there, and he only knew it used to be a cat-ate-the-canary glint because of his position two steps ahead of her.

He leant closer to her, and his voice dropped accordingly. "I'm not supposed to say, actually, but I think you won't tell..."

Roy knew this role well; a strict, handsome and professionable teacher on the outside, a shy, easily moulded boy on the inside. Pity it wasn't as fun as when he played the 'bad boy in military' for a girl called Sasha, back in his Major days...

"Don't worry, I won't." She seemed to hesitate as well, briefly, then came to a conclusion. In a sugary voice, she added, "if it's so important, I won't tell the Ministry either. Okay?"

He relaxed and gave a soft smile - not entirely for the reason she thought. "Thanks, Dolores. I knew I could trust you."

Okay. Maybe he overdid it, just a little... but she still looked convinced. Inwardly, Roy sighed.

This wasn't even a challenge, not like the time Rebecca...

"What is it then, Roy?"

"Well, you guessed right, a little. Elric," here he cringed, "and I were part of the same alchemy group."

"But he's a muggle."

"Alchemy is a form of magic some muggles can perform," he lied. "It's different, weaker, but it's wandless and really... interesting. We study under professors and live in the muggle world."

"I presume this is why the Ministry couldn't detect your presence?"

Roy thinned his lips and glanced away, practically a blush. "Probably. Well, see... Elric and I are both doing independent research. Of course I never thought _his_ 'independent research' would end up with those results..." he scowled.

"Don't worry." She smiled, what was probably reassuringly. "He's been imprisoned..."

"Except he's not," Roy finished. "I read he escaped from Azkaban, leaving a strange design behind. And I'm, uh, well, our group isn't pleased by all the codes Elric broke..."

"I don't like this mysterious group you keep mentioning—"

"I'm sorry, Dolores. I'd say more but I've already broken the rule of silence."

"—but," she added, and Roy had a little trouble discerning the nature of her expression. "I'll overlook it, like I promised." He smiled, weakly. "But you're right, Elric left a design."

"How did he draw it?" Roy asked quickly, "Was it circular? How many lines? Did it—"

Her expression changed slightly into annoyance, and he 'caught' himself.

"—Oh. I'm sorry again, Dolores. I just... really need to know. Then I can figure it out and send the chiefs my report."

He 'definitely' didn't mean to let that 'information' slip.

"The Ministry is actually quite stuck at the moment," she answered, giving her own 'information' in return; an incentive. "But if you write that report, could you make an extra copy?"

Roy hesitated, as if in the process of an extremely vital decision. Then slowly, he said, "I could. I would need to take a look at the circle to know, but I could. There shouldn't be any sensitive information except the address and delivery location."

A flicker of something unphrasable flashed in her eyes, the moment long enough for Roy to confirm his suspicion. Letters to and from the school were watched.

"You're very fortunate that you came to me," Umbridge said. "I might be able to get you access."

'Might'. Ha.

"Are you sure? I don't want to trouble you or anything..."

"Not at all," she replied. "You should have told me sooner. How does next Sunday sound?"

"Thanks," Roy said, beaming - a smile Havoc had never been in the vicinity of before; one that would have broken the Lieutenant's scale completely. "I owe you one."

A faint blush smattered across Umbridge's cheeks, and she smiled.

* * *

He never knew what he expected, when heading down the immaculate hallways of the Ministry and down to Azkaban below, weaving through the levels and dodging sideways glances. Umbridge wasn't a popular woman, he could tell. Most respected her out of necessity, and those who considered her a companion were only those in higher positions. Those she would have sucked up to.

Roy didn't really like her style. It lacked technique, and finesse. She only had an eye for rising in power, as he'd suspected, whereas he preferred to look at the bigger picture.

As he passed the last few doors, Azkaban's presence became immediately apparent. A myriad of sensations hit him all at once, and though they were all different the message remained the same.

Cold. Empty. Despair.

Instinctively, Roy activated his air-sensing arrays without meaning to - as he often did upon entering new surroundings. There was little magic in the air; none he could have drawn from. The only magic present occurred recently and he could tell why. They'd attempted to rebuild after Edward's departure, but large cracks still remained in the walls; cracks, by the looks of things, that were repaired by incomplete transfiguration and the walls stopped from failing by the presence of wards.

Magical energy during Edward's stay wouldn't have been prevalent.

Roy frowned, and ran a finger along one of the cracks. It was another thing to add to his list of inconsistencies.

"This way, Roy," said Umbridge, her voice thick and false as usual.

Roy blinked; somehow he'd fallen behind. When he caught up to her short figure again, she glanced meaningfully to the escort beside her.

"Thank you for your services, Tessmoor." She smiled. "Roy and I will be fine for now, so you may go."

The guard Tessmoor, a tall man with an eye that couldn't fully open, gave a stiff nod. Then he left, brushing past Roy through the way they came in.

Umbridge held out an arm. "This is Elric's cell. Please, take your time; the more information you could possibly provide, the better."

Roy nodded, and stepped inside. "Has it been changed..." He trailed off as he lifted his head.

The spiralling red structure sparked several figments of memory.

Sweeping curves. Seven point star. Sloppy, measured strokes. Blood connection.

Roy rarely swore. He liked to think of it as a good selling point of his, in contrast to many other soldiers that were once as active as he in the field.

Holy shit.

Impossible. It—it was impossible. Nothing like it should have existed. Nothing like it should have been _able_ to exist.

Holy _shit_.

Edward was insane. There were so many things wrong with the array that if the Elric had been sane, he wouldn't even attempt to create it.

There were so many things that could have gone wrong with the array that it was a miracle the Elric escaped _alive_.

Roy took a deep breath, and cataloged each individual component. Scar's Ishbalan Destruction circle. Seven points to the star; denoting as much perfection as unstable backlash. Several lines were present that threw him off, lines that only made the array more volatile and harder to use. But then he looked at it mentally with none of those lines in sight, and realized _how_ much of a difference they actually made. They somehow simultaneously increased the degenerative abilities and acted as a stabiliser. An extra set of runes allowed him to tap into and break down the wards themselves, to fuel the deconstruction.

But he knew the energy from the wards themselves wouldn't have been enough. The sheer amount of energy Elric needed to channel and redirect should have torn him apart molecule by molecule.

He knew the answer; he could see it immediately.

The transmutation circle for the Gate formed the base of the alchemical equation.

It had been warped, of course, and Roy only recognized it from countless hours studying his own copy. But no matter how distorted it became, there could be no denying the presence - the very _existence_ of the circle's purpose.

The more he stared, the more it went beyond his comprehension.

Edward Elric couldn't have been twenty. There were so many details, so many minute corrections, that ten years of experience could not have been enough to create such a thing.

And to think - he did it without any written theory. Without correction. Without _any form of eraser_.

It had just been draw and go.

"—has been kept in its original condition, as discovered."

Roy barely registered her words - the sheer capabilities of the circle made him feel insignificant.

Was it right to feel envious to someone sixteen years your junior?

"—oy? Roy?"

"Ah," he said. Then he turned around to see Umbridge watching him curiously, and his mask slid on before he even needed to think. "Dolores."

She stood there impatiently, but there was a slight glint in her eye. "So? Have you found something?"

"Yes. This circle..." he frowned. "It's created around a standardized destructive base. Some of the symbols aren't familiar to me, but I speculate they're for better integration into magical aspects."

All lies, of course, though he always made sure to keep some truth in them. But one look at the gleeful expression Umbridge tried to contain, and he knew she bought every single word.

He decided to add a little more. "Theoretically, if it is the standard destruction circle, I should be able to reverse it." Roy gestured to one of the blanker stretches of wall. "Do you mind...?"

"No, no; go ahead."

Roy reached into a pocket for a stick of chalk, and proceeded to draw a standard counter-circle. It paled considerably in comparison to the sick, red, _majestic_ array beside him, but he squashed those thoughts. Yes, he could have just clapped his hands, but arrays would always be far more comfortable to use.

He placed his hands onto it and concentrated, trying to draw all the thinly scattered particles to him. They gathered, but they were not enough, so he needed to resort to Royston's internal store to supplement the energy.

When he was done, he felt exhausted. There hadn't been a way for him to repair everything due to the size of the prison itself, but at least he'd mended the worst of the damage. A small part of him felt victorious that he could do such, but another resolutely grumbled about how Edward could cause so much damage to begin with.

"Dolores—"

He stopped when he saw the red paper aeroplane heading in her direction. She caught it and opened it, then skimmed the text. Her expression didn't improve; if anything, it only turned more annoyed.

"Elric has been sighted around Malfoy Manor," she said.

"Ah?"

Why would she tell him this?

"Part of the building has collapsed, with two shockwaves created from points about two feet apart. They're saying it's a thief with pre-cursed objects, but—"

"Alchemy," Roy interrupted. "There's no doubt."

Her expression warped, her suspicion confirmed. Then it changed back into something vaguely resembling a kind schoolteacher. "Would you mind accompanying me a little more, Roy? You've done such an excellent job already."

Roy inclined his head, and dusted off his robes.

"It would be my pleasure."

* * *

**A/N:** You guys seemed to be deprived of Ed, so I brought him back in again. And there is more explanation. It comes later.

...What, you thought chapter 19 was the end? I know I like to be vague sometimes, but those are mainly for insignificant things. I'd think escaping from Azkaban and busting all the DE's out was pretty significant. :)

Review? :D

**Next chapter: **Sidestepped Instinct  
(feat. Malfoy Manor. What? Just because I got rid of Draco being in Hogwarts...)


	26. Chapter 25: Sidestepped Instinct

**A/N:** It's been a while, hasn't it? ^^; I'm sorry, I got distracted by the Code Geass episodes my friend gave me, and I've only just recently gotten a stable connection to the internet. I wasn't able to reply to all of your reviews because there were just so many (thank you, all!) but I'm sure you appreciate a new chapter more than a review reply. :)

On another note, sama-chan has drawn some fanart~ I've put a link on my profile. Oh, and I've, um, changed my penname. The old one was getting really old.

* * *

**Last time:**

"_Elric has been sighted around Malfoy Manor," Umbridge said. "Part of the building has collapsed, with two shockwaves created from points about two feet apart. They're saying it's a thief with pre-cursed objects, but—"_

"_Alchemy," Roy interrupted. "There's no doubt."_

"_Would you mind accompanying me a little more?"_

_Roy inclined his head, and dusted off his robes._

"_It would be my pleasure."_

**Immiscibility  
**_by N. Silvutra Mayhem_

**Chapter 25: Sidestepped Instinct**

Malfoy Manor consisted of a large, imposing set of buildings overlooking equally as large grounds, fenced off by a sturdy brick wall. The only means of access was a tall pair of imposing iron gates, no doubt swathed in layer upon layer of charms.

Roy spotted the East Wing before he was pointed toward it. It wasn't hard; somehow an entire wall had given way, and the roof quickly followed. Added the fact that the people from the Magical Law Enforcement Investigations Department were crawling around on-site, their wands lit in a way that made it seem like there were thirty fireflies flitting in the setting sun's light, and Roy knew he'd found the place Edward had supposedly broken out from.

Truth be told, he began doubting any Elric's involvement to begin with. The damage created was too haphazard, and the wall would have surely collapsed before any person could have escaped. Dare he say it, but it seemed _too_ brash, even for Edward's doing.

"Roy?"

Roy turned to find Umbridge approaching him, her conversation with the Investigation Department's chief over. "Yes?"

"You've been given level three access to the scene and all evidence, just like you asked."

"That is full access and all witness information, alongside the ability to question those witnesses further, correct?"

"Yes."

"Thanks.. Is there any way I can repay you?"

Umbridge smiled, and shook her head. "Don't worry about repayment for now. But if you insist, more information on Alchemy would do fine."

"Then," Roy said, and smiled as well. "You will find a report on your desk tomorrow evening. I'm sure we can catch Elric if we work together."

Umbridge nodded, before walking off to survey the grounds. Roy took the opportunity to approach the rubble.

It was worse than he thought. The walls hadn't just been smashed. The foundations had somehow turned into dust. He leant down, but was interrupted by a voice.

"Hey!" Roy glanced up to see one of the Investigators glaring down at him. "Out, out!"

Roy stood up to stare the man down. "I assure you, I have both gloves and authorization."

"Says who?"

"Says I."

The Investigator stiffened at the new voice, before turning around and giving a salute sloppy by military standards. "A-ah, Malfoy, sir! I, um, wasn't aware—"

"Return to your work," Malfoy said simply.

With a final "_Yes, sir!_" the Investigator skedaddled quite comically, leaving Roy and the Malfoy alone. Now nobody stood between them, it was possible to see both the pale, pointed face and the platinum blonde hair.

"You are the owner of this mansion?" Roy asked.

"Both the owner and the overseer of the investigation," Malfoy replied. "Lucius Malfoy."

"Roy Mustang."

Malfoy ignored the extended hand. "So you are the new Hogwarts' Alchemy professor, correct?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Would you have known the Elric that taught before you?"

"I do. Alchemy is not a very common art; it is inevitable that practitioners would meet."

"I see. I will tell you this: I do not tolerate fools who do not know their place."

"I understand."

"Then you and I will get along fine. I must say, I'm rather interested in seeing the ability of your 'Alchemy'," he spat the word with some disdain, "at work."

"Perhaps after the investigation I can help assist with rebuilding your foundations?" Roy asked.

Malfoy made a noncommittal noise which could have meant either 'Yes, that's fine' or 'No, I don't need your help'.

Out loud, he said, "We shall see."

When he turned tail and left, dark robes billowing behind him with every step, Roy didn't let the encounter affect his exterior smile. Politics was something he could play, and though it occasionally frustrated him it still had to be done.

He knelt back down to the ground again and picked up some of the dust. He channelled a miniature composition array around his thumb and forefinger, similar to the action of clapping his hands but on a much smaller scale, and confirmed his suspicions. Each granule was pure and could only have been created through alchemy; whoever did it stopped at stage two, deconstruction.

Furthermore, few people knew, but no two alchemists deconstructed the same substance in the same way. There were always personal styles to take into account and every person would leave a faint residue behind, like a signature. The differences were not so great that they could not be forged, but Roy had dealt with countless issues regarding the style of transmutation he could feel.

To others, it was circumstantial evidence; for him, gut feeling was enough proof for what he wanted to know.

As he was leaving, something above him caught his eye. Then he smiled.

The red slip of fabric caught on the treetop waved back.

* * *

Professor Mustang entered the Great Hall through the teacher's side door, dressed immaculately in the dark blue robes and military combat boots as usual, then paused. He blinked a little as he looked around, before walking up to the empty seat beside Flitwick and sat down.

"Do you think we should go see him?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "How long has it been?"

"Three weeks?"

"Come on," Ron said. "We went to see him last week and he said he was fine, so he's fine."

"Still..." Hermione muttered.

"Don't make a big deal out of something so small."

Hermione sighed.

"So what if he's faltering in class and he's distracted?" added Ron. "His lessons are still good."

"That's what I'm _worried_ about, Ron. They're perfect, he's tiring himself out."

"He'll get over it. We have him once a week, right?" Ron then resorted to Drastic Measures. "Could you help me with these incantations now?"

Harry glanced to the head table again, Hermione's cry of "At _breakfast?_" in the background, to find Mustang and Flitwick talking to each other. There was far too much distance between them, and the noise of the hall around them wasn't exactly low, so it was impossible to hear what they were saying. But he could still see the bags under Mustang's eyes, and the way his eyes would sometimes look somewhere else every now and then.

Flitwick asked him something, and Mustang reached into a pocket before withdrawing his wand. That was when Harry realized he'd never really seen Mustang use his wand, and when Flitwick turned it in his hands it occured to him that it was dark, and very long. Probably even twice as long as the Charms' Professor's, but he could only use his memory of seeing Flitwick demonstrate spells as a guideline.

Mentally, he shook his head; did it matter?

When he turned back to his breakfast (and in the corner of his mind, Hermione had given in and helped Ron with his work, successfully distracting her from sighing over Mustang) the mail had arrived, a huge flurry of feathers beating against each other as the owls were given access to the hall. Fortunately, Hermione's Daily Prophet avoided landing in any food and into her lap instead.

Harry had just glanced back at the head table when he felt a searing pain in his skull, coming from his scar. There was only enough time for a single victorious thought—_ha, it was good Mustang was being watched, even if from afar_—before the hall disappeared.

He was swimming in darkness. Was it darkness? Or was it a really dark room? He didn't have time to deliberate further, when he—he? _It wasn't him!_—lifted an arm, wand in hand.

"_Please my lord, forgive me!"_ The mound quivering on the floor cried, and it was only then that he could see it was a person bowing against the floor.

"Rise," Harry commanded—except it wasn't Harry—and he watched as the mound got to their feet like a puppet on strings. He couldn't see their face, not in the blur, not in the dark, but he flicked his wand. "_Crucio_."

There were screams. He heard them, but he felt nothing. Because it wasn't him.

Was it?

"You have failed," he said. "You had made sure it was impossible for him to draw anything such as the circle, yet you did not implement the necessity to keep his hands separated as they did at the Ministry."

"_My lord, forgive me!_"

"You yourself knew how important the Elric boy was to my plans. Such punishment cannot be withheld. _Avada—_"

"—arry?"

Harry blinked. He found his hand in midair, and was thankful the action was made slightly less awkward because he seemed to be reaching across the table for the Prophet. "Yeah?"

"Right," Hermione said. "Did you want this?"

Harry nodded, dumbly. She handed it over.

Ron came to his rescue. "It's bloody insane, isn't it?"

"I... haven't read it yet," Harry dodged.

A movement in the corner of his eye made him look to the head table, where he saw Mustang folding up his copy of the Prophet and leave the room despite never finishing his meal.

"Read it, then," Ron insisted. "Page three."

Harry opened the Prophet.

_Diagon Alley: Elric Strikes Again_

* * *

**A/N:** I'm a little bit out of practice with this story... hopefully it's okay. Also, bringing the Malfoys now is me avoiding a common cliche that tends to appear in HPxover fics, where the other fandom meets Draco/Lucius early on and the story has to do with it a lot. That's one reason why I used sixth book, because it also means that there's no cliche'd Dumbledore as well. (A little mean, I know, but still...)

Thanks for sticking with me! ^^; Next chapter will be up _much_ sooner than two months. Promise. ^^

Please review?

**Next chapter: **Inanimate Revelation


	27. Chapter 26: Inanimate Revelation

**A/N:** This is what I do instead of studying for exams. I'm going to rush all the chapters until Ed gets back for real. Which means less consistency, but hopefully faster updates. I'm sorry, but... I miss him, and I should have covered them in the break I was away.

The finale is approaching. But first, like in Brotherhood, all the pieces have to be put into their places. Thanks for all your reviews, you should have all gotten a reply~ :)

* * *

**Immiscibility  
**_by N. Silvutra Mayhem_

**Chapter 26: Inanimate Revelation**

It had been so _stupid_.

He'd stayed in a lot of places whilst on the run, changing appearances when somebody got too nosy and relocating with ease. He'd known it was a risk coming out into the open, let alone entering a building. But he had been confident that, even without magical abilities, the black hair and slim silver glasses would cast faux shadows to differently mould his face, and the dark vest instead of his usual red coat (now transmuted black, and turned into a backpack) would be enough to keep him out of view.

But it hadn't. He'd forgotten his eyes, those unnatural golden eyes. Their distinctive shape could not be hidden, and it was only his luck that he'd bumped into someone and his glasses had slipped. They'd fallen to the floor, lenses shattering into hundreds of tiny fragments, soon echoed by a series of Apparated _cracks_.

It had been so _stupid_.

Ed took a deep breath over a cup of coffee, confident his hiding place in a muggle cafe two blocks away from the Leaky Cauldron would be secure for the time being. At that time, two owls bearing two different letters, both in the same, distinctive messy scrawl, were taking two different routes with intention of delivery to one Professor Roy Mustang.

* * *

Roy Mustang was stressed. Though he only taught one class per week, which normally wouldn't have been an issue, he had the terrible habit of being the most productive in the middle of the night when he was half asleep, when it was chilly and nobody else was awake. That one class per week ruined his sleeping habits. From the Sunday to the Friday he would slowly begin the shift to a nocturnal schedule, before the pattern forcibly reset as he woke up hideously early on Saturday morning.

Sometimes, he didn't manage to sleep before teaching at all.

Things were, fortunately, looking up for him. It was Edward's circle from when he escaped Azkaban, combined with a few modified circles from the trash, which helped Roy backtrack to the original Gate-opening transmutation circle. And it was also because of Edward that Roy had his new lead.

If he could use magic to _power_ the circle, perhaps he could use it as _exchange_.

Such a thing was ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. But Edward's notes held the beginnings of a theory on how magical Equivalency worked, and though sketchy, Roy did not have anywhere else to start. He would have been lying if he said he didn't dislike having to follow the lead of such a disrespectful subordinate (though technically, since Edward was no longer in the military, it could be considered a civilian tip-off) but there was no other person with as much knowledge of the Gate. No other person with such an intuitive knowledge of Alchemy's foundations.

And Roy's intuition told him he had to find Edward. The feeling had only multiplied after his visit to Malfoy Manor.

But yet...

He didn't know what would happen if they met. Some people said that geniuses were smart because they sacrificed other aspects of their lives all to supplement their intelligence. Roy never believed them, yet Edward had done so many things once thought impossible.

Did he want to meet him, this twenty year old man who possessed the ability to seemingly shape Alchemy from its core?

...Of course he did.

Roy walked out of the Great Hall, folding his newspaper into quarters and then stowed it under one arm. Edward had made a mistake, allowing himself to be seen in Diagon Alley, and Aurors had been called. It would be difficult to find him now, since he would be on edge and more cautious than ever, and Edward Elric was good at hiding when he didn't want to be found.

Roy fingered the edge of the small slip of parchment he'd hidden inside the newspaper's folds. The single slip of parchment had been the reason why Edward risked leaving his hiding place, and then got himself discovered. It was no more than a paragraph long, written in what was evidently an advanced version of Marcoh's cookbook code. Edward knew that Roy would have received his report detailing how the code worked. And Edward would have known that Roy would know what to do upon receiving the letter.

However, after several years and countless sheets of paperwork, Roy couldn't remember. He had to start from scratch, but at least he knew... at least he had confirmation that Edward was still around.

"Excuse me."

Roy turned around. Filius Flitwick stood there, the reason he'd followed the other out evident within his hands.

"You forgot this," he said.

"Ah, sorry," Roy apologised, then took back his wand. "Did you find what you wanted?"

"It's an interesting wand, isn't it?" Flitwick asked instead. "Mahogany and phoenix core, fifteen inches. Unusually long for spellcasting and rarely seen in that length. Why, the last time I saw someone with a wand like that was a friend of mine... Royston Mugford."

Then he _moved._ "_Stupefy!_"

_Protego; Expelliarmus!_

Roy could only watch as a thin film of blue light washed before him, the red jet dissolving upon impact. And then he stepped forward—_Royston_ stepped forward—his wand releasing its next spell upon the return swish of his arm.

The resulting beam of gold was ducked with ease, and Flitwick smiled.

"I thought so," he said. "In all my years, I've never seen another with reflexes like yours. What is such an accomplished duellist doing at Hogwarts?"

"My name is Roy Mustang," Roy replied. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Flitwick shrugged. "If you insist. Where are you going?"

"My grandmother is ill, and I have to visit her."

"Then you may wish to know that the fireplaces are tracked. If your 'grandmother' happens to be in Diagon Alley, the Ministry would be more than happy to convict an innocent man in league with a supposed killer."

Roy couldn't help raise his eyebrow. "You're unusually trusting."

"Royston knows how to throw off _Imperio_ better than most Aurors I've met. And I will give you some advice: if you know what to look for, Charms placed on one's person are easy to identify."

"Thank you, but it is not needed."

"Well," Flitwick shrugged, "think of it as an overdue favour for an old friend, and assistance from when I was unable to help Edward avoid his fate. Enjoy your trip."

Roy nodded. "I shall."

* * *

Diagon Alley had once been a busy walkway, one of the hearts of the Wizarding World. Once, it was filled with witches and wizards of all ages, looking to buy everything from books to broomsticks, from ice cream to owls.

Now the owls were still there, but instead of being prim and upright they were scared with countless bent feathers from frantic wingbeats against the cage bars.

Roy did not need to be told why. He'd known there was a scuffle with Aurors, that much at least had been gathered from the Prophet's article.

Even so, he hadn't thought the damages were so great until he saw them in person.

Several shopfronts were destroyed, windows shattered and goods in ruin. Some areas were not even accessible due to the damage, as giant stone spires rose to block his path. The crossfire had been harsh, without doubt, and when Roy manoeuvred around a barrage of wooden splinters, it was all too much.

He stopped to lend the cleanup crews a hand, touching his fingers together and pressing them against the wall. The phenomenal amount of residual magic in the air lended itself easily, and soon enough the spires were returned back to where they were drawn from.

He did receive a few suspicious frowns, but one flash of a Ministry assistant badge acted as enough deterrent, and they didn't press further.

There was nothing left to see. No trace of Edward Elric, other than the damages he'd left in his wake. That was enough confirmation; Edward had long gone, and Diagon Alley would no longer be worth searching.

Roy had been glancing around when he noticed her, a young witch loitering around a store. It was an apothecary, and though it sat right on the edge of the fenced-off area it had also taken some damage. She was waving her wand and he watched as fallen barrels werre rightened. Few people approached; he knew from many cases that business was difficult at the edge of a crime scene.

When he was about to leave, he froze. A piece of advice about disguises and charms resurfaced in his mind. Then he recalled one of the many books he'd read, and smiled.

He entered the apothecary.

* * *

**A/N:** I deviated from my plans to write Ed's scene, and isn't it refreshing? Regardless, the end begins to draw near. See you next time :)

**Next chapter:** Fishing for Tomorrow


	28. Chapter 27: Fishing for Tomorrow

**A/N:** So I forced myself to sit down, ignore everything and write this, consequences be darned. Once again, everyone, huuuuuuuge thanks for the reviews! We've broken 530, I didn't even think it'd get past 500 when I started. **THANK YOU!**

Also, anyone doing NaNoWriMo? I hope to win this year. I'm _Silvutra M._, feel free to add me. :)

* * *

**Immiscibility  
**_by N. Silvutra Mayhem_

**Chapter 27: Fishing for Tomorrow**

They stood in a neat file from one side of her office to the other. Seven students, chests held high, eyes determined and brimming with victory. Swathed in green and silver, they were all members of Slytherin House – but most importantly, they were loyalists to the Ministry's goals.

The small round badges glinting on their robes showed their pledge of loyalty to _her_.

Dolores didn't fight the smile tugging at her lips. She finished affixing the last badge to Tracey Davis's robes, then strode to the middle of the room so each student could see her equally.

"Do you understand your roles?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am," they chorused.

"Very well. You have all been chosen as a result of common interests, and you will fill the empty hole of regulation. From now on, you eight form Hogwarts's core of discipline. You will sacrifice your valuable time to benefit the common community. Aid the reinforcement of our Educational Decrees, and leave no wrongdoers unpunished."

The prideful confidence she felt from them only increased at her words. Excellent; just as planned.

"I expect you to fulfill your roles to your greatest ability. Dismissed."

"Excuse me, ma'am?"

Dolores hadn't been expecting any questions, but recovered quickly and sent Daphne a smile. "Yes, Miss Greengrass?"

"Forgive me for any disrespect, but I don't understand how we are supposed to... _punish_ offenders if they are caught."

"All seven of you have been granted priviledges to deduct points from any house you wish."

"Really?" blurted Pucey. He straightened. "I mean, um, thank you, ma'am."

Dolores nodded, and dismissed them from her office. When the door closed behind them, she turned around to face the window. The smile fell from her face.

Yes. Her Inquisitorial Squad would help keep order, as well as report back to her about any suspicious activity around Potter and his supporters. Her informant told her of a meeting at the Hog's Head last Hogsmeade weekend, and though she made sure to instill a new Educational Decree she knew the Potter boy's stubborn tendencies. They would no doubt be trying to usurp her position.

She wouldn't fall for it; she would prepare accordingly for everything thrown in her way.

Then, her fireplace flared up in a blaze of green flame, before a person stepped out and over the grate. Roy Mustang straightened and dusted off his robes, Vanishing the soot clinging to the fabric with a silent swish of the wand before removing the badge pinned to his chest at a painfully slow speed.

"Well?" she asked.

He straightened, sending a charming smile in her direction. "It's him," he confirmed, placing the badge on the table. "The only lead they have is that he left through the Leaky Cauldron."

Dolores nodded. It was nothing her reports didn't already tell her. "Did you find what you wanted?"

"More than that. Elric's transmutations are becoming sloppy, and there are a large number of shortcuts in his work. It confirms my suspicions that he's severely fatigued."

"Are you sure they can't be from haste?"

"Positive. These are... energy-cutting shortcuts, you could say. It's unique to those who clap their hands for a transmutation; the ability is so advanced, it places a large amount of additional strain on the body."

"Could you..." Dolores asked, pausing to choose her words, "would you mind writing a report about that in more detail? The Ministry would appreciate this information added to their file."

"I wouldn't mind duplicating another copy, no. However," he lifted the sealed bag at his side, "I plan to add something about these transmuted rock samples. I'm afraid it won't be very relevant, but it'll be included nonetheless..."

"No, no, that's fine," Dolores assured.

They exchanged a few more pleasantries before Roy left her office as well, thanking her as he did so. Dolores sighed when the door closed again, and sank into her pink, plush chair. She ignored the files on her desk and opened a drawer to the side. In it sat a petite, purple box, a box containing several round chocolates nestled amongst delicate lace. They were her favourite, expensive Belgian treats, and she took them whenever she felt stressed and needed to calm down.

She ate one.

Roy Mustang. Good looking, a genius in alchemy and in magic if his unspoken spells were any indication, and the only person possessing any reasonable chance at finding Edward Elric. A sincere man who was on her side and willingly helping her goals.

He confused her.

In a normal instance, there would have been some sort of hindrance. Any sort. But there was none; all the reports she asked of him were always impeccably penned and always on time, handed in without complaint. He did not ask for anything substantial in return, merely asking for favours so he could complete the investigation for his organization, and duplicating the reports he sent away. His record was clean, spotless.

...Yet too many things didn't add up.

The organization, though secret, would have left at least _some_ traces. Though not in the Wizarding World, she'd reached for her contacts that were always more... in touch with the muggle world, contacts she had for that very sort of situation. Nothing; _nothing!_

And Roy always sent his mail from Hogsmeade, an area she had no jurisdiction covering!

She glanced at the slip of parchment in the corner of her desk. Written in code, her copy was a duplicate, the original sent to the Ministry for evaluation. It wouldn't have been important, were it not for the fact that it had been intercepted from one of two owls _Elric_ was said to have sent away. The other owl had been well out of reach by that time, probably having taken another path, and the letter possessed no address written down.

But what it did have was a signature line down the bottom, a hurriedly-scrawled _F.M.A._ A signature line copied exactly on a letter entering Hogwarts grounds—a letter delivered to Roy Mustang.

Dolores came to her new course of action, just as the last of the chocolate dissolved in her mouth. It didn't matter if Elric was communicating with Roy. _She_ would track the blonde annoyance down and maybe earn a promotion or two doing so. Roy was still useful to her in that way, and if he ever tried to rebel...

...infatuation or not, she _would_ use her information against him.

* * *

The air was crisp. Cool and crisp. There was a window open to the side, the window showing naught but the deep blue night skies beyond the horizon. There was no moon, and the stars were obstructed by a cloud that looked like it didn't exist; the room's dark recesses and feeble lighting made it seem there were no walls between it and the outside world.

A soft sequence of hisses made the shadows in the room stiffen, as wraith and snake conversed in their raspy tongue. Then a glare from red eyes—no, _his_ red eyes—had one of the shadows move to close the window, their soft, pattering footsteps trailing underneath pitch black robes.

The door opened to allow a small man through, a man who came to a stop before the large chair. He seemed to shrink as he knelt, and when he spoke it was to the floor.

"You called, my Lord?"

Harry raised his head—though it wasn't _him_ raising _his_ head—and sent a glare down his face to the man below. "What news?"

"We... We have searched the area," he stammered. "The... The Elric man is nowhere to be found."

Silence rang through the room, an apprehensive silence instantly suffocating each soul. Then, the shatter of glass windows from a nonverbal spell, and Harry(_?_) stood up from the chair.

"_Fool!_" he snapped. "Incompetent _fools!_"

"I—I..."

"Be silent!" Every shadow in the room flinched. "Do you know _how long_—"

"My sincerest apologies, my Lord—"

"I do not _tolerate_ incompetence. _Avada Kedavra!_"

A flash of green, a crumple of cloth and bone. Though his eyes were already open, Harry somehow opened them wider from his shock—

—and his eyes snapped open to meet darkness. A warm, layered darkness, unlike the cold darkness he'd experienced previously, and he recognized it as the roof of his four-poster bed; the four-poster bed within the boy's dormitories, of Gryffindor house.

Yet the dream continued in the back of his mind. He felt himself—no, not himself—smirk as the man's life was relinquished. It was only when the not-him licked his lips to relish the taste of fear floating in the room did he realize whose mind he'd claimed as his own.

"My Lord," one of the other shadows, walking to the centre of the room and ignoring the lifeless body. "If I may interrupt...?"

"What is it, Jugson?"

Jugson fell into a deep, respectful bow. "My contacts within the castle report that the new Alchemy professor is also capable of performing advanced array-less alchemy. If, as it currently seems, that we are unable to find Edward Elric, we may be able to use him as a substitute. He has the same amount of potential, maybe more."

"More?"

"He possesses considerable skill in nonverbal spellcasting."

Displeasure at being forced to a second-best resort clashed with a hum of interest. Harry felt the himself but not himself _but_ _Voldemort_ smile.

"Very well. The pursuit of Edward Elric is no longer our highest priority."

A flash of Legilimency found a name.

"To all my loyal Death Eaters: _bring me Roy Mustang!"_

* * *

**A/N:** The pieces are in place, everything is ready. The finale is set to begin!

As always, I'd love all reviews, whether they be theories, reactions, thoughts or crit. Without you, there wouldn't be a story~ ;)

**Next Chapter: **Investigation


	29. Chapter 28: Investigation

**A/N:** Sorry I haven't updated in... whoa. Like. Ages. Nine months. Wow. I've done pretty well in my last set of exams so I've got some time to write, now. The next update shouldn't be so long coming. (Maybe. Luckily I have planning documents...)

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed and stuck with me for this whole time. Again, I'm so so sorry and you have the right to poke me and dump me in fluorescent jelly. ^^;; Don't worry, I'll definitely get Immiscibility finished. We're so close to the end – _definitely_.

(The story cover for this fic is by my wonderful friend Kel-ye, modifying the art she'd done for the cover of Part One in what was going to be the published version of this story. Isn't it pretty?)

* * *

**Immiscibility  
**_by N. Silvutra Mayhem_

**Chapter 28: Investigation**

The three sat in the Room of Requirement, Harry across from Ron. Hermione was seated aside them, arched over a book and occasionally taking glances to the chessboard between the two. A flickering fireplace in the wall cast warm lights across familiar heavy drapes, turning red to gold and gold trimmings to molten, and kept the room smothered in comforting warmth.

Ever since the creation of Dumbledore's Army and the implementation of several more ridiculous Educational Decrees, the Room had become more of a home than the Common Room in Gryffindor Tower. It also had the benefit of more privacy – a factor that, since someone's (or some_thing_) tattletaling their introductory DA recruit meet in an empty classroom, was one of extraordinary importance.

In an era where Dumbledore was dead and Voldemort had risen, the walls having ears rang never more true.

Harry cringed as Ron's knight took an errant bishop he'd accidentally forgotten. The indignant cries and angry shouts of the pieces didn't reach his mind, though, filled with deliberation that had been going on for more than most of the day.

"Mustang isn't working for Voldemort," Harry said, finally, fully aware of how the words crushed his earlier theory beyond reason.

Ron gave a sound of surprise, wincing at the name, and Hermione looked up.

"What makes you so sure?" asked Hermione.

"I had a dream," Harry said. "Last night. He just stopped his search for Elric and sent out all his Death Eaters to go after Mustang instead."

Ron frowned. "Why?"

"He said...no," Harry corrected, suppressing a slight shudder of discomfort as he remembered the thoughts that were not his thoughts, and the gleefuly sick sensation of casting the _Avada Kedavra— _"He's interested in Mustang's spellcasting ability."

"That's true..." murmured Hermione. "Elric _was_ a muggle... Professor Mustang is really quite talented. And nonverbal, too! How he has the time to be so practiced in both arts and still so young..."

"He doesn't," Ron blurted.

The other two blinked; Ron himself seemed surprised at the words. He waved his hands as if they could divert the sudden attention away from him.

"What?" Harry asked.

"I mean, er," said Ron, "he's just always tired. Everywhere."

Both Harry and Hermione stared. Harry cast his mind back to when he'd seen the Alchemy Professor last, which was... a while ago. Professor Mustang rarely made it to the Great Hall for meals; when he was noticed at the Head Table, it was only for the briefest glance and saved as a faint recognition in the back of Harry's mind. The lessons were still the same as always, though Mustang did occasionally garner a faraway look in his eye.

Whatever was going on, Mustang _certainly_ wasn't the flawless, faultless man he'd been when taking the position at the beginning of the year.

"I never thought you'd notice something like that, Ronald," Hermione said.

"What?" Ron asked. "It's not like I _don't_ notice stuff."

Harry didn't pay their banter any mind, trying to follow his thoughts. Then he blinked as something occurred to him.

"Come to think of it..." Harry began, cutting the other two off, "He stopped eating in the Great Hall after the Prophet reported Elric's presence in Diagon Alley."

"Diagon Alley... what, two weeks ago?" said Ron.

"Yeah. He rushed out of the hall."

"He's been in the library," said Hermione.

"The library?" Ron asked. "What's he do there?"

She bookmarked her page, then closed the cover and placed her book to the side. "He used to frequent the Ancient Ruins and Magical Theory aisles."

"Used to?" asked Harry.

"Now he doesn't come in as much, but he's got a notebook he writes in all the time."

"A notebook..."

Harry drifted off. He put his arms behind his head and rested his feet on the table, ignoring the chess game altogether.

"Oh no," said Hermione. "You're not..."

"If we could get that notebook," Harry said, slowly, "we could figure out what Mustang's actually up to."

"You said yourself that he's not working with—with _Voldemort_," Hermione replied.

"Yeah, but... Voldemort's up to something. He's desperate enough that he's willing to use Mustang instead. If we," and here Harry leant forward, bringing his hands forward and resting his chin atop them, "If we can figure out just what he's after, there's a chance we can stop him before he can get it."

"And what do you propose to do?" came the reply, though carrying an unpleasant tone. "Are you going to just—just break into his room again, after he found you last time—"

"That's what we have to do."

"Listen to yourself – it won't work!" Hermione spun toward Ron. "What do you think, Ronald?"

Silently, Ron opened his mouth, then closed it. "Uh..."

"No, wait," said Harry, slowly, unsure of his words until they were spoken. "Last time it _didn't_ work because he found us. But, what if..."

* * *

"I can't believe I agreed to this," were Hermione's last words that morning, before the lesson began.

She passed his desk, bag slung over her back and – more importantly – hiding a special coin within the folds of her cloak. Ron followed her, more sedately, though he did hide a gulp along the way.

It was when the class had milled out of the room, leaving only Harry and Professor Mustang alone, that Harry tentatively approached the older man.

"Excuse me – Professor Mustang?" he asked.

Mustang was wiping the board clean, a strange habit repeated at the end of each lesson despite possessing an innate magical skill.

"Yes?" he said. "What is it?"

"About, um, about last time... when I, uh, was in your room..."

There was a slight furrowing of lips on Mustang's part, though no further reaction. "What about it?"

"I just... wanted to apologise."

Mustang paused, but it was hard to tell whether it was due to the apology or the fact there was nothing left to clean. He placed the duster on the tray at the base, then turned around.

At such a close distance, Harry was suddenly aware of the lines of fatigue written over Mustang's expression and wondered why he hadn't noticed them sooner.

"I see you've taken my advice," Mustang said, finally, reaching for the pair of innocuous cotton gloves on his desk, then put them in his pocket. Harry could see the man's wand peeking out from another.

"Advice, sir?"

"To talk to me directly, rather than going behind my back. Still, thank you. It takes a lot to apologise, especially since you've undergone your punishment already."

Then, post-lesson procedures completed, Mustang spun to walk out of the room. Harry's gut sank. His own coin, tucked in his pants pocket, hadn't reacted at all; Hermione and Ron still hadn't contacted him to say their part of the plan was done.

He needed _more time_.

But what could he—

"_Wait!_—um, _Professor Mustang!_"

Mustang turned to face him again, face unreadable.

"You need to be careful," Harry said.

"Careful."

"Yeah." Harry fumbled. "Um, you need to watch your back."

"And what would require me to do so?"

"Voldemort."

"Who?"

Harry blinked. _What_—was Mustang truly that sheltered?

"You-Know-Who," he explained.

He couldn't stop a part of him remarking on the irony of explaining the situation in reverse.

"No, I don't know who—" Mustang blinked. His eyes seemed to focus. "Oh. _You-Know-Who_. Of course. What about him?"

Harry was spared from wondering what sort of wizard didn't know about Voldemort, to being thrown into the fire and hastily thinking of a reply – usually, just mentioning the name would garner enough reaction.

"He's, uh, after you."

At this, Mustang raised a brow. Harry was relieved that there was some semblance of interest in his words.

"Why is that?"

"Um." _Think fast!_ "The previous Alchemy professor, Elric...?"

"Yes?"

"Voldemort was after him. But now he's escaped from Azkaban, he can't get to him."

Something in Mustang's eyes changed, though their unreadable nature didn't help pinpoint exactly what. "And he's after me instead."

"Yeah."

Mustang pursed his lips. "Interesting. Though you'll need something better than that if you're trying to return to my good graces."

The professor turned to leave again, just as Harry's jaw nearly dropped free of its restraints. After all that, Mustang thought it was some kind of fairytale that he made up in order to—

But that was unimportant. What was important was the fact that the coin _still_ hadn't reacted. He knew it wasn't defective, because they'd used it before – Hermione's alert was both to tell Harry the plan was done, and to assign the date and time for the next DA meeting.

So that just meant he needed more time.

Mustang was halfway to the door.

He needed _more time_—

"_It's the truth!_" shouted Harry, reflexively. He regretted doing so when the force of his words drew Mustang to a stop, but he had to continue. "I'm not lying."

Slowly, Mustang turned around again. "How would you know?"

"I... can't say."

Mustang did not reply, nor did he turn away. He merely continued to stand there, staring, and Harry was reminded of a similar situation when he'd been facing Elric down.

It was when Mustang's foot slid aside that Harry made up his mind.

"Can you keep a secret?"

"One moment."

Of all the things that were done, Harry did not expect Professor Mustang to draw closer and wordlessly conjure two chairs out of thin air. Harry took one, whilst Mustang, brow furrowed and murmuring under his breath, flicked the wand in his fingers a little more.

Harry could not see the wards but felt the magic wash around them, reminded once more of the stark contrast in magical skill and muggle habits the other man acquired.

Tucking the wand away, Mustang sat down.

"You know," he said. It was nothing but a statement of fact.

Harry nodded. It was too late to go back now. "After the attack on my parents, I got this scar." He brushed back his fringe, allowing the uncanny lightning bolt to be visible to the other. "It's given me a mental connection with Voldemort."

"A... mental connection?"

"Yeah."

Mustang did not seem too concerned or frantic, as would have been expected, and for once Harry was glad of the muggle quality behind the professor's abilities.

It, as well as all of Mustang's previous responses, was also incredibly suspicious. Hopefully Hermione and Ron would hurry up and find something that could create an explanation.

"Sometimes..." began Harry, drifting off in both uncertainty and a need to stall for more time. "Sometimes I can see what he's doing and planning in my dreams."

Mustang glanced aside; for what reason, it was hard to tell. "And that is how you know."

"Yeah."

"Interesting. Really, quite interesting..."

A pause.

Harry's heart skipped a beat when the coin finally reacted, and fought to suppress a reaction. It took them long enough.

They were done, everything was finished, there was no more stalling he needed to do.

Now he just had to get away.

"Is he after me simply because he cannot get Elric any more?"

Harry didn't know, but he nodded anyway.

If Mustang noticed his uncertainty, he showed no sign of doing so. "And, just to be sure," he said, "has anything you've seen turned out to be reality?"

"Of course it has!" shouted Harry, with a scowl. "Of course! And it's _my fault_ I couldn't even _save_—"

"Please sit down."

His exclamation had been so quick and unexpected that Harry didn't notice when he'd risen to his feet. After Dumbledore's death, for Mustang to even _hint_—

Harry took a deep breath. He did as he was asked.

"Thank you for the information," continued Mustang. "All of it will be kept confidential, as promised. Is there anything else I need to know?"

Harry shook his head. Mustang nodded, then, rising to his feet, brought out his wand again. Harry rose, as the wards fell and the chairs Vanished to join the world around them again; it was the dismissal he'd been looking for.

"Once again, Potter," Mustang said, "thank you."

When the professor left the room, Harry was left alone, accompanied only by the distinct possibility that he'd parted with more information than he would be able to gain.

Perhaps it was Mustang who'd truly won.

* * *

**A/N:** The last few chapters were named manga-style, like a series such as Bleach. They were fun, but they're not my style :)

Trivia: My notes for this part actually say "Ron has secretly been stalking Mustang." No, really. On another note, what do you think about the 'You-Know-Who' and 'Voldemort' situation? There's only so much to be learnt from skimming books and reading Ministry-censored newspapers, after all...

Please review! ^^

**Next chapter: **Encryption


	30. Chapter 29: Encryption

**A/N:** Much earlier than nine months this time :)

Thank you everyone so much for the reviews! I never thought I'd break 600, wow. Virtual cookies for all~!

* * *

**Immiscibility  
**_by N. Silvutra Mayhem_

**Chapter 29: Encryption**

Upon his return to the Room of Requirement, Harry threw himself into the first chair he found with more force than necessary. His relief was palpable.

"That was close," he said, as soon as he saw Ron and Hermione walk in the Room.

"Why?" said Ron. "What'd you tell him?"

"Er, Voldemort's after him and I know because I see him in my dreams?"

"And?" asked Hermione, sharply.

The feeling that he'd made a mistake only amplified, but Harry tried not to show it on his face. "And nothing. He just took it at face value." Then he changed the subject, not liking the look in Hermione's eyes. "What took you so long anyway?"

Ron glanced around the empty room furtively before answering. "Hermione wanted to make sure we were under the cloak at all times."

"So did you find it?"

"No," said Hermione. "He must have had it on him. I told you this was a bad idea."

"Oh lay off it," said Ron.

At the same time, Harry said, "what about the folders?"

"I won't, Ronald. This is a teacher's _privacy_ we're talking about." Hermione replied. Then she looked to Harry. "There were no folders."

Harry stared. "_What?_ But the table and everything-"

"The room _changed_, Harry," said Hermione. "It's half the size it used to be. Most likely Professor Mustang lowered the ceiling so he could make a wall. And no," she added sharply, when she saw Harry open his mouth, "we can't transmute a door or anything because Professor Mustang is an _expert_ at alchemy. He would notice something wrong straight away. In the end, we searched everywhere we could."

"Oh." Right. He hadn't thought of that. His heart sank; yes, Mustang _had_ won. "But did you find anything at all?"

"Only this," said Hermione. She searched in her pockets, frowned, then turned to Ron. "Did you give it back to me?"

Ron searched his own pockets in turn. "I... think I did. No, wait, it's here."

He held up a small piece of parchment in his hands.

"What's that?" asked Harry, as he reached out for it.

"A code of some sort," Hermione said. "It was on top of the wastepaper basket, and must have fallen from the desk."

Harry glanced down. It was a letter, addressed to a Roy Mustang, and did not seem like a code - until after the phrase, '_And about Josephine:_' a little way down. There were plenty of girls' names, and moreover, even more references to cookbooks and recipes. Though it was phrased vaguely, sometimes a little off in sentence structure, Harry wouldn't have realised it was a code until it was mentioned. And until he saw Mustang's annotations, the red circles around key words and the numbers written within them in the man's distinctive handwriting.

What caught Harry's interest, however, was the _FMA_ at the bottom. Not just the _FMA_; it was the only instance where words were used in comment rather than numbers.

_Fullmetal Alchemist_.

"Wait," said Harry, suddenly aware of a prickling in the back of his neck. "This is a copy, right?"

"_Of course_," said Hermione. "Now if you would only think sooner, then-"

"Alright, alright." Harry waved his hands.

Hermione didn't stop, only redirecting her assault. "And you couldn't ask him about _classwork_ earlier too, you had to talk about how his life was in danger _instead._"

"He gets the picture, 'mione," said Ron. "Lay off-you always get so defensive when we talk about Mustang."

Hermione folded her arms across her chest. "I do not."

"You sure it's got nothing to do with the detention-"

"Oho?" came a new voice.

All three heads turned to see Fred and George at the now-open door. They had their hair frozen in identical styles, each wore a small pince-nez on their nose and were clad in matching pants beneath their robes. They also held a large trunk each, though thankfully not in the same hand. Either way, they were determined to look the exact same.

When they entered and closed the door behind them, Harry was surprised they managed to find him... until he remembered that he'd included a clause allowing members of the DA to enter after week after week of sheer habit.

"What's this?" said the twin on the right. "The naughty Trio in detention again?"

"Oh, but wait," said the twin on the left, voice and inflections identical and the same. "There appears to be a _note_ involved, brother Forge."

"Quite right, brother Gred!" exclaimed Forge. "Then, could it be? A note from Professor Mustang, maybe?"

Hermione flushed. Harry spotted Ron shift his weight from one foot to another, knowing he was probably visibly uneasy as well. The joke was a little too close to the truth for comfort.

"Look Hermione," said Forge. "You've gone and made Ron _and Harry_ jealous!"

Gred mimed patting Harry on the head. Then, in a stage-whisper, he said, "didn't know you liked her too, m'boy."

"Just stop it," said Hermione. "_Both _of you!"

"The lady has asked," said Gred, clutching his chest mock-struck by horror.

"Aye, brother Forge," said the twin initially called Forge. "Thus we must listen."

Hermione ignored them, eyeing the trunks warily. "I hope those aren't any more of your 'wares'."

"That, you shall never know," said Forge.

"But are you interested, young ma'am, perhaps?" asked Gred. "We have these delicious new treats just for getting you out of class-"

"No," she said tersely. "And I'll have you know that if you are still getting those first-years testing those 'puking pastilles' of yours, you should-"

Rather than paying attention to her, Fred and George shared a look as if silently communicating with each other. Then they nodded in unison, faces slanted grim.

"Actually, Hermione," said Forge. "_Are_ you interested in Mustang?"

"The guy doesn't look it," added Gred, "but as far as romance goes, he and Snape are one and the same."

Ron frowned. "Wait, I thought he was interested in Umbridge?"

"Have you _seen_ him?" the twins said incredulously. They shot each other a look again. Forge continued. "It's like he's been bitten by a Mackled Malaclaw. He certainly has to have been having bad luck, with all that firewhisky he's been drinking."

"Firewhisky?" asked Harry.

"Yeah," said Gred. "There're bottles and bottles in the kitchens. We asked the house elves. He's been drinking them all."

"There've been rumours all over the place too," added Forge. "Apparently Sylvia Whitford heard Umbridge confessing and he turned her down. And Audrey Ashcroft actually asked him out only for him to reject her very loudly before the whole House."

"Though, dear brother," said Gred, "Ray may be her best friend, but she doesn't have a good track record of being reliable."

"Very true." Forge nodded, sagely.

"So," said Ron quizzically, "why are you telling us this?"

"Oh," said Gred. "We're looking for Ginny but we can't find her."

Forge smiled as he reached out to give him a noogie. "Pass the message along, would you, Ronniekins?"

While Ron spluttered under his brother's grasp, Harry frowned as a thought began to occur. It was when Fred and George left, presumably to disrupt the peaceful lives of other Hogwarts' residents, that the idea turned from a spark of interest to a fully-realised situation.

The kitchens. They'd asked the house elves in the kitchens.

"Oh no," said Hermione.

Harry blinked and looked up at the tone of her voice. "What?"

"Not again," she continued. "Every time you get that look in your eye, you just-"

"No, no," said Harry, quickly. "It doesn't involve _us_ this time. Hang on a sec, let me just..."

Harry took a few steps back. Then, making sure there was ample room round him, he cleared his throat.

"Dobby?" he asked.

There was one second's awkward pause when Harry thought with dread that it hadn't worked. But in the very second after that, there was a loud, ringing _crack_ and Dobby the house elf appeared before him in that colourful mix of fabrics and clothing that he liked to wear since Harry had freed him.

"Harry Potter!" exclaimed Dobby in his shrill, high-pitched and extremely excited tone. "Yes, it is Harry Potter which has called Dobby, and Dobby wishes to cry but he cannot cry-"

"Right, Dobby," said Harry. "I know I can't really give you orders, but-"

"Dobby is a free house elf and he can do whatever he wants and he chooses to obey all of Harry Potter's orders!" said Dobby. Despite his earlier words, tears were streaming down his face and into the neck of his blue knit jumper. "What is it that Harry Potter wishes for Dobby to do?"

"Okay," said Harry. "Then, Dobby, do you know Professor Mustang?"

"Yes!" said Dobby. "Dobby knows! Dobby knows Professor Mustang; he likes his meals delivered to his room, on the little chair by the window, whenever the call is made even if there is no person there-"

"Then," said Harry. "I'd like you to keep an eye or an ear out for anything about him, and report back to me when I'm in the Room but the rest of the DA aren't here. Or, if you could follow him, that would be even better-"

"Dobby can follow him, sir!" said Dobby. "Dobby knows how to stay quiet and follow him as Harry Potter has asked, and that is what Dobby shall do! Is there anything more, Harry Potter, sir?"

"No, that should be all."

Dobby beamed one last time - then, with another loud _crack_, he disappeared. Harry was about to sigh with relief at how easy everything had been when he caught sight of Hermione in the corner of his eye.

Hermione's mouth was stretched thin. She was glaring at Harry with a pursed scowl. "And you're going to bring the _house elves_ into this as well-"

"But Dobby's doing it because he wants to," said Harry, sensing another rant about S. P. E. W. "I'm not forcing him or anything."

"That's true," said Hermione, slowly. "But I still want you to know that what you've been trying to do all this time is stupid. Professor Mustang only became a target of yours because of your suspicions and he's never done anything wrong. Maybe it's because you're the Boy-Who-Lived that you feel like it's _your _responsibility to do _everything_, but _you're not the only person in the world_, Harry!"

"Hey-" began Ron, but Hermione cut him off.

"Stay out of this, Ronald," she said. "This is the _absolute_ last time, Harry, and only because Dobby was probably going to do it anyway whether you wanted him or not. If you want to invade Mustang's privacy any more after this, when Mustang hasn't done anything wrong _at all_, I'm going to report you to him straight away."

She grabbed her book bag off a table, and stormed to the door.

"And you can keep that note, by the way," she added. "You'll need more than a talent in cryptanalysis to decode that sort of thing."

And Hermione left the Room.

* * *

At the new workbench, in the half of the room which was blocked away from access with both physical and magical means - the magical means being the strongest spells that could be found in Hogwarts' extensive library, Roy Mustang blinked at the paper in his hands. Then, bloodshot eyes glanced between that sheet and several others to the other side of his glass of firewhisky, he blinked again, and he slowly put the pen down.

_Josephine._ All different letters, one doubled. H, I, J, O, P, S, double E.

_Voldemort._ The same. D, E, L, M, R, V, double O.

Of course. Elric must have stolen a few of his own coded reports off his desk; it was the exact same method of encryption he would use. How the blond knew, Roy would never know, but he made a mental note to change how he went about doing things once he returned to Amestris. _If _he returned.

He read over the letter again, the letter that was his original copy pinned against the wall. The letter encrypted in a combination of his own style of female meetings, as well as the cookbook code used by Marcoh and a dash of Fullmetal. Then he looked at the translation in his hands.

...he'd done it. The letter was decoded, from a code so obvious it should have been staring him in the face, except he'd been to pre-occupied with trying to restore everything he remembered of Edward's report on Marcoh.

Roy turned to look at the cauldron bubbling steadily on the other side of the room. He got to his feet, scrutinised the liquid like thick mud, and stirred it again. It had taken twenty-one days to get to that state, and the potion had only been completed literally that morning.

And now, with Edward Elric's location and message in hand, everything was ready.

* * *

**A/N:** To be honest I lost my muse a little after my last update, but recently I realised that instead of waiting for it to return the only way to fight writer's block is to write... which is why this chapter is terrible and everyone's all probably out of character. Urgh.

There's nothing I can do about it now, though. Hopefully next chapter is better. Because, well, guess who's finally back for the show? :)

Please review~

**Next chapter: **Assimilation


	31. Chapter 30: Assimilation

**A/N:** I'm alive!... I wish. Haha, sorry. Have an update? :)

To all my reviewers, thank you so, _so_ much! You were the force that's keeping me going. To everyone else: thanks for reading~

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**Immiscibility  
**_by N. Silvutra Mayhem_**  
**

**Chapter 30: Assimilation**

As Roy Mustang walked down the footpath to Hogsmeade exactly two days later, he could feel all too clearly the weight of his pockets and the items inside batting against his body. He found who he was looking for seated under a tree with a book in her hands.

Mock-surrepticiously looking around as if afraid of being discovered, and then seeing no one, Roy tapped Royston's wand to his hair and fetched a pair of glasses from within his pocket. A quick check of a hand mirror showed success in his disguise as the blond Fuery, and Roy smiled to himself as if self-satisfied.

He hurried to the tree and leant over to talk with the young woman there.

If anyone was watching, they would have seen the Professor Roy Mustang leave Hogwarts, then Charm his hair from black to blonde before meeting up with a young woman on the outskirts of Hogsmeade before the two of them linked arms for a date together there.

What they wouldn't see was Edward Elric seething under his disguise, because it had been Roy's idea. Yes, there was truth to the fact that, if anyone was watching, a self-created conclusion about Mustang's intentions would convince them there was nothing going on, but surely there could have been another way—

By the time Roy scored the two of them a room upstairs in the Three Broomsticks (and what a place that was called!), Ed was all too ready to transmute his long dress back to a black coat and tie his hair up again. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped when Roy raised a hand. Roy waved a wand, and Ed sensed magic fill the room.

"It's been a while, Fullmetal," said Roy.

"I keep saying, it's Ed," came the correction. "I'd hoped it wasn't you when I found out my replacement. How did you get here? Did you open the Gate?"

"That's what I should be asking you."

Ed frowned. "Stop dodging the question—_did you open the Gate, Mustang?_"

"...I did."

"Then you must have seen it. The Truth. After everything that happened to Al and I... _why?_"

Roy didn't blink. He didn't react, forced himself not to react, even as he remembered image upon image of nonsensical figures, nonsensical forms, garbled through and through with words he barely understood though spoken clearly. The trippy expanse of knowledge and power behind Truth's maws... and the power behind the box he'd opened for that knowledge to be his.

"I was being shot at." Roy touched a hand to his chest without thinking when he felt a phantom pain buried under the layers of Royston's body. "Assassins. Gloves were neutralised. I had no choice, and it saved me."

Roy couldn't ignore the flinch in Edward's body, nor how Edward clenched his hands into fists.

"Did—did they kill you?" asked Edward.

"What?"

"Did you—did your body die in Amestris?" Roy nodded. Edward swore. "This complicates things."

"How so?"

"The Gate is a medium from one plane to another. Each person has a counterpart on the other side; the altor. Souls are transferred through the Gate from one altor to another – if your 'self' in Amestris is dead, that's another body we need to transport instead of just the soul."

"Some form of propulsion is required, then."

"I don't know," Edward admitted. "I would hazard a yes, except it doesn't always appear that way. The data I have is inconclusive... there must be some formula, some equation. Nothing adds up. Though – things can only speed up now that you're here."

It was only a brief moment which Roy allowed himself to dwell in the praise, despite the reminder in the back of his mind that the blonde was _so much more_.

"You were trying to generate magical equivalency."

"Saw the research notes?" Edward shrugged. "Yeah. If we can at least get the equivalency, everything will work itself out afterwards."

There was a brief silence after that – Roy didn't know what to ask, and Edward was distracted, absently fiddling with a band on his finger. Roy looked closer; Edward had several rings on his hands that had to have been obtained while he was on the run, as they weren't in the photograph of the newspaper article.

That was when Roy remembered the blonde's earlier reaction.

"The assasins that were after me," asked Roy, "you know about them, don't you?"

"I—did. I'd overheard them while in Creta." Edward's expression darkened. "They found me. Screwed up, amateur mistake, there was a rebound. I was lucky my body was sent through."

"Your altor...?"

"Died. According to the calendar on this side, nearly a century ago."

Roy frowned; "What happens to the counterpart if the altor dies?"

"Nothing, I don't think. Especially since I saw H—" Edward cut himself off abruptly; his eyes flickered, and then he shook his head. "Someone who's dead. Nevermind, it's been too long. In this world, time passes faster. I'm not sure if it's related to the Gate," he added, "but I know there's _something _missing."

"How do you know it's only one thing?"

Edward paused. "...I don—"

They were interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the corridor. Both Roy and Edward stiffened; Edward held his arms up to his chest as if he were about to take on the threat with his bare hands; Roy was surprised when he realised he'd reached for his wand – usually he would have gone after his spark gloves instead.

For some reason, that was when he remembered the spare pair of spark gloves that were in his pocket, an exact copy of those _he still had on_.

Roy sent the thought from his mind; no matter which weapon he used, and despite the preventative measures he'd placed against eavesdropping, they were not in a safehouse and there was still the very real chance that he'd need to defend if somebody blasted the door. Here he was with escaped convict Edward Elric, after all.

But even when the footsteps receded, the people outside descending down the corridor and down the stairs, neither Roy nor Edward relaxed completely.

Edward's eyes trailed to the wand and he raised an eyebrow. "You can use that?"

"This counterpart is a wizard," said Roy. A thought occurred to him; "You can't?"

Edward snorted. "Never tried."

Admittedly, Roy couldn't imagine the Fullmetal Alchemist waving around a wand either. Instead, what he said was: "Look into it. In this world, it's superior to alchemy."

"Do you _really_ believe that?" Roy hadn't expected the sharp reply. When he opened his mouth to explain, Edward continued before he could begin. "Have these _wizards_ brainwashed you too?"

"To perform alchemy requires the presence of magic – without magic, alchemy would not be possible."

"Excuses."

"What?"

"You saw the Truth; you can do it too, right? Circle-less alchemy." Roy nodded, keeping his hesitation from his demeanour. Edward smiled. "You've realised, then. It's not that alchemy is inferior – clapping is too slow. Why didn't you use your spark gloves?"

Roy didn't answer, simply because he didn't know. Instead, he did what he'd intended to do before their meeting. When the spare pair of spark gloves was extended to Edward, Edward blinked in surprise.

"Take them," he said.

Edward looked at him as if he'd grown a second head. "Mustang, you _seriously_ think I can use these?"

"You can't keep transmuting the way you have. I saw your work in Diagon Ally – it's fatigued. These don't require so much energy—"

"The fucking magic has gone to your brain," said Edward. "I can't use them even if I wanted to. I don't have the training. Fatigue? You try fatigue after being kidnapped by masked morons after Gate resonation and—"

"Masks?"

"Yeah. The poser and his 'Death Eaters'."

"That 'poser'," said Roy, "is still looking for you. You won't be able to protect yourself in an area without walls to transmute and the ground too far away."

Edward snarled. "You think I can't look after myself? _Try it_, use that stick of yours. I'll show you—"

But Roy(Royston?) was already moving. _Stupefy!_

There were only a matter of metres between them for the red light to cross. Roy had moved forward, about to catch Edward before he fell, an '_I told you so_' on the tip of his tongue, when Edward had waved an arm. To Roy's surprise, the brightness of the light dimmed – most of the spell disappeared, and the rest was diverted toward a cushion balancing atop a chair.

The cushion teetred, then succumbed to gravity and fell to the floor.

"What—" said Roy.

"These," came the reply.

Edward held out his hands and gestured to the rings on his left hand. There were no rings on the right hand, only transmutation arrays on his gloves stretching from his knuckles to halfway down his finger. Upon closer inspection, the rings had the same arrays etched onto them, only less disassembled and in their proper circle. The arrays were basic, for air, water and stone.

"Clapping is too slow, too vulnerable," repeated Edward. "To keep up with magic, you need pre-drawn arrays."

"How did you—"

"Spells are just packets of magical energy. The magical energy can be dissolved but the amount depends on the spell's speed."

"You _dissolved _it?"

Edward frowned. "Not... exactly. Magical energy has wave and particle properties similar to light but they're still affected by medium. Or something... I used this air-array," he gestured, "to change the relative densities of the air so it deflects. At least, I think they're densities. You'll know it when you feel it. The dissolving is just transforming the energy in the spell to power the array, like drawing from the environment but faster. What?"

'Dumbstruck' couldn't even begin describing the expression on Roy's face, nor the feeling in his brain.

"You can do this... instantaneously?"

"Kinda, yeah. Has to be. Like I said: clapping is too slow. Anyway, the main problem we have now is getting payment for the Gate—"

Without warning, Edward's eyes flashed. He leant forward, stumbled; threw out an arm against the edge of the bed and stood doubled-over with a fist cluching his heart. Roy had been frozen from sheer surprise, and could only curse at how he couldn't move whilst a comrade was in danger. The last time he'd been frozen stiff was when he was still a Major fresh on the battlefields of Ishval.

By the time he managed to react, Edward had relaxed. The blonde's eyes had slipped closed, unnaturally calm. It was slowly when Edward opened his eyes, turned to face Roy again; Roy felt something unsettling pool into his stomach at the gaze that looked directly at him but did not see him.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," said Edward, unblinking.

Roy blinked. "What...?"

"The Gate... is not happy with him. Lord Voldemort... has revived the dead without meeting it. Offered sacrifices worthless in value. He has many things that the Gate wants from him, many debts unpaid. Now he is after alchemy as well. If we find him, bring him, the Gate will let us go home."

"How do you—"

Edward's eyes returned to focus. He frowned, determined, and Roy felt keenly the sensation of the Fullmetal Alchemist's powerful aura.

"I'm not sure," said Edward Elric. "But the bastard had me captured before, so I know where his headquarters are."

"Can we trust—"

"Yes—I'm sure. I know a chance when I find one, and I'm taking it."

Gold eyes met Roy's darker. The Fullmetal Alchemist grinned a shark-like grin.

"We'll strike tonight. Let's go."

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**A/N:** Ed's back, and there's chaos to be had! I'm sure you can guess what's going to happen now, though let's see if I can throw some twists in the way...

Finishing this story? Well, we're getting there. Leave a review on your way out :)

**Next chapter: **Expulsion


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